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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/lilypearlmistresOOgort 


Ida  Glenwood, 

(The  Bliud  Bard  of  Michigau.) 


LILY  PEARL 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE 


IDA    GLENWOOD, 
"The  Blind  Bard  of  Michigan." 


AUTHOR   OF 


'THE   FATAL   SECRET,"    "KATE   WYMANS   AND  THE 

FORGER'S   DAUGHTER,"     "BLACK 

FRANCE,"  ETC. 


EDITED   BY 

MAJOR  JOSEPH   KIRKLAND. 


CHICAGO  : 

,  DIBBLS   PUBLISHING   CO. 

1892. 


COPYRIGHT  1893 

BY  DIBBLE   PUBLISHING  CO, 

CHICAGO. 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


PREFACE. 

It  matters  but  little  to  the  average  reader 
whether  a  book  be  wholly  historical  or  purely  im- 
aginary if  it  be  of  sufficient  interest  to  hold  the  at- 
tention in  a  pleasurable  excitement  to  its  close. 

There  are  those  however,  who  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  the  following  work  was  wrought  out  of 
historical  facts  gleaned  from  a  large  parcel  of  let- 
ters written  by  a  son  while  a  soldier  in  the  army 
of  the  rebellion,  to  his  widowed  mother,  then  in 
Springfield,  Mass. 

Graphic  were  his  descriptions  of  scenes  and  inci- 
dents coming  to  his  personal  knowledge  during 
that  memorable  march   from  "Atlanta  to  the  sea." 

These  I  have  woven  into  a  web  of  fiction  ming- 
ling their  Hghts  and  sliadows,  blending  them  as 
best  I  could  amid  denser  shades,  hoping  that  per- 
adventure  their  coming  to  you,  gentle  reader,  may 
prove  as  great  a  pleasure  in  the  perusing  as  the 
author  has  enjoyed  in  the  weaving. 

Ida  Glenwood. 
Fenton,  Mich. 


602925 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


My  editing  of  this  most  interesting  story  has  been  little 
more  than  proof-correction.  On  reading  the  manuscript  in 
in  advance  of  the  type-setting  I  soon  found  it  safer  to 
leave  the  author's  style  to  take  care  of  itself,  sure  that  it 
will  strike  the  public,  as  it  struck  me,  with  renewed  respect 
and  admiration  for  one  who,  sightless,  can  excel  so  many 
of  us  having  all  the  senses. 

It  is  touching  to  observe  how  the  blind  narrator  dweils 
on  outward  things, — color,  light  and  shade,  sunset  skies, 
human  features  and  expressions, — which  must  come  to  her 
only  in  imagination.  She  seems  to  dwell  with  peculiar' 
intensity  on  a  world  of  beauty  which  we  others,  sated  by 
abundance,  pass  by  unrecorded  if  not  unnoticed. 

Sightless  slje  is  not,  for  in  her  the  mind's  eye  is  of  a 
brilliancy  that  seems  to  make  our  mere  physical  vision  use- 
less by  comparison.  Better  the  soul's  sight  without  eyes, 
than  the  eyesight  without  soul. 

Joseph  Kirkland. 


9 


PUBLISHERS'  ANNOUNCEMENT. 


We  would  be  pleased  to  have  the  reading  public  patron- 
ize "Lily  Pearl  and  The  MistrEvSS  of  Rosedale," 
because  of  the  benefit  to  the  author,  ' '  The  Blind  Bard  of 
Michigan,"  and  for  the  pleasure  it  will  give  the  following 
gentlemen  and  firms,  who  have  freely  and  generously  given 
their  time  to  the  production  of  the  work  :  Major  Joseph 
Kirkland,  editor;  G.  M.  D.  L,ibby,  printer;  L,.  Braunhpld, 
artist;  A.  Zeese  &  Co.,  electrotypers,  and  Donohue  & 
Henneberry,  binders.  But  the  best  reason  for  buying  will 
be  found  in  the  charming  story  itself. 


11 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTERS. 

I 

II 

III 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 


Midnight  AT  "  Cliff  House,"          -  17 

The  Little  Mariner  Alone  Upon 

THE  Ocean,      ,     -            -            -  29 

The  Waif  After  the  Storm,     -  39 

Reception  Night  at  the  New  Home,  50 

Death  in  the  Little  Cottage,       -  61 

"Crazy  Dimis"  and  the  Twilight 

Scene,            -           -           -  71 

Changes  in  the  Cottage  Home,       -  81 

Out  Into  the  World,      -            -  gi 

An  Upper  Room  in  the  Hotel,         -  99 

The  Opening  of  a  New  Life,     -  108 

Rosed  al^,        -          -          -          -  118 

Heart's  Secrets  Revealed,  and  Un- 

revealed,      -           -           -  128 

The  Mother's  Curse,            -           -  138 

The  Mysterious  Letter,           -  147 

Scenes  Upon  the  Plantation,        -  157 

The  Birthnight  Entertainment,  167 

The  Thrilling  Revelation,             -  177 

The  Little  Party  at  the  Wash- 
burns,        -            -           -           -  189 


13 


14 


CONTENTS. 


XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 

XXV 

XXVI 

XXVII 

XXVIII 

XXIX 

XXX 

XXXI 

XXXII 

XXXIII 

XXXIV 

XXXV 

XXXVI 

XXXVII 

XXXVIII 

XXXIX 

XL 

XLI 


Death  OF  "  UxcLE  Bob,"  201 

The  Abduction,          -  211 

Breaking  of  Home  Ties,                  •  225 

Leading  Her  On        -            .             -  237 

A  Day  in  the  Hospital,       ••            ••  247 

The  Dark,  Dark  Wave,                    -  259 

The  Recognition,      -            ••            -  271 

The  "Phantom"  Removed,              -  283 

New  Resolves  and  New  Adventures,  295 

Flight  of  the  Southern  Spy,         -  307 

A  Night  Upon  the  Billows,            -  319 

The  Shadows  As  They  Fly,              -  331 

Changing  Clouds,      -            ■•            -  343 

The  Darkness  Thickens,      -            -  355 

Light  Through  the  Rifted  Cloud,      _  367 
A  Storm  About  the  Widow's  Cottage,  375 


A  Proud  Spirit  Broken, 
Unfoldings  and  Revealings, 
The  Golden  Clasp  Re-linked, 
Changes  and  Revolutions, 
The  Hazy  Mists  Are  Lifting, 
Aunt  Vina  in  the  New  Home, 
"Good  Bye," 


387 
397 
407 

417 
427 
441 
450 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Ida  Glenwood,  the  Blind  Bard  of  Michigan, 

Midnight,      ------  ly 

The  Cli£fs, .              -            .            .            .  .              28 

By  the  Sea,      ------         38 

"  Look  at  her,  Shipmates,"            »             .  _               42 

At  the  New  Home,      -             -             -             -  -         60 

The  Church  Yard,               -             -           "  -  -               70 

The  Brook,       -             -             -             -             -  -         go 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Gaylord,  I  am  so  Lonely  I  "    -  -             104 

The  Inn  at  Kirkham,                -             -             -  -       136 

Park  Scene,                         -              -             -  -             145 

"  Give  Me  That  Paper ! "         -             -             -  -       146 

Nest-building,         -             -             -             -  -             200 

The  Death  of  Uncle  Bob,         -             -             -  -       207 

The  Haj'stacks,      -             -             -             -  -             210 

"  She  Placed  the  Cup  to  His  Lips,"                -  -       253 

15 


16  LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Capitol  in  War  Times,             ...  258 

Scene  in  the  Dismal  Swamp,   -             -             -             -  294 

Camp  Fires,             _             .             .             .             -  ^06 

"  Did  You  Say  Her  Husband  ?"         -              -             -  312 

The  Night  Train,  -----  31S 

The  Billows,     ------  329 

Lily  Pearl,                ....             -  342 

Mrs.  St.  Clair,               -             -             -            _             -  354 

Scene  on  the  Schuylkill,                  ...  365 

Lillian,              -             -             -             -             -             -  373 

Plantation  Scene,                ....  385 

Arrival  at  Kirkham,    -----  406 

Meeting  of  Lily  Pearl  and  Her  Mother,    -             -  408 

Aunt  Vina,      .-.---  426 


Midnight 


CHAPTER  I. 

MIDNIGHT  AT   "CLIF?  HOUSE." 

It  was  a  dismal  night  out  upon  the  ocean 
where  the  huge  billows  tossed  high  their  foaming 
crests,  or  dashed  with  maddening  fury  upon  the 
rocky  shore  as  if  unwilling  longer  to  submit  to  the 
powers  that  shut  them  in  ;  while  ever  and  anon  the 
deep-mouthed  thunder  answered  back  through 
the  darkness  "thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no 
farther." 

Then  ran  the  echoes  along  the  shore  and  up 
the  ragged  cliff  on  whose  summit  one  feeble  ray  of 
light  struggled  through  the  narrow  crevice  of  a 
curtained  window  out  into  the  midnight  gloom. 
The  howling  winds  made  sad  music  through  the 
long  corridors  and  curious  wrought  lattice  work 
that  partially  enclosed  it ;  slamming  the  heavy 
iron  gate  that  had  broken  loose  from  its  fastenings 
and  kept  swaying  to  and  fro  upon  its  rusty  hinges, 
wakening  by  its  unusual  noise  the  huge  watch  dog 
in  his  kennel,  who  growled  menacingly  at  being 
disturbed  at  such  a  late  hour.  The  rain  beat 
furiously  against  the  windows  and  ran  in  rapid  cas- 
cades down  the  steep  declivity  into  the  sea,  falling 
on  the  sandy  shore  that  extended  along  the  beach 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

It  was  October,  and  the  cottage  on  the  summit 
was  usually  deserted  before  this  time,  for  the  inva- 

17 


18  THK    ^IISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

Hd  who  had  resided  there  during  five  successive 
seasons  could  not  well  endure  the  autumn  breezes 
when  the  frost-king  had  chilled  them. 

To-night,  however,  a  tall,  richly-dressed  lady  sat 
alone  in  the  spacious  parlor,  her  black  gown  lying 
in  heavy  folds  on  the  white  matting  that  covered 
the  floor,  her  head  drooping  weariU'  upon  her  hand 
as  her  elbow  rested  on  tlie  table  where  the  wasting 
candle  flickered  low  in  the  socket ;  but  she  heeded 
it  not.  Now  and  then  she  would  raise  her  head 
with  a  sudden  start  and  look  intently  at  the  door 
opposite  and  then  sink  back  again  into  the  same 
posture  as  before. 

Tliere  was  sadness  upon  her  face,  such  as  awak- 
ens the  deepest  sympathy  of  a  human  heart ;  but 
in  the  keen,  glistening  eye  there  was  a  deeper, 
sterner  look  that-^would  send  a  sister's  tenderest 
love  back  to  its  secret  chamber,  chilled  and  trem- 
bling ! 

There  are  hours  made  so  big  with  actions  and 
resolves  that  yea/s  full  of  circumstances  and  results 
are  made  to  hang  their  heavy  weights  upon  them. 
Such  an  one  was  now  passing,  bearing  away  on  its 
dark  wings  the  fearful  impress  made  by  a  silent 
finger,  3'et  in  characters  that  in  after  years  will 
reflect  back  upon  the  soul,  filling  it  with  horror  and 
disma}^ !  A  loud  peal  of  thunder  echoed  through 
the  apartment  and  then  rolled  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, leaving  behind  the  mingled  voices  of  the 
winds  and  waves,  with  the  fast  falling  rain  on  the 
roof  above. 

The  door  suddenly  opened  and  a  servant  girl 
stealthil}^  entered  with  a  newlj^  lighted  candle, 
placed  it  on  the  table  exchanging  it  for  the  one 
almost  spent,  and  then  as  stealthily  retired. 


MIDNIGHT   AT   CUFF   HOUSE.  19 

The  lady  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  intruder,  as 
she  did  not  enter  the  door  where  her  expectant 
eyes  had  so  often  turned  with  a  wild,  weird  look, 
and  she  remained  as  motionless  as  before. 

Two  o'clock.  The  little  silvery  bell  on  the  man- 
tel proclaimed  the  hour,  and  the  tall  bent  figure  at 
the  table  gave  a  sudden  start,  as  though  a  new 
pang  had  penetrated  her  sensitive  brain. 

A  few  moments  after,  the  door  toward  which  her 
eyes  had  so  often  wandered  slowly  opened  and  a 
little  girl  scarcely  ten  years  of  age,  timidly  entered 
and  approached  the  lady. 

"  Mother  would  like  to  come  in,"  she  said,  with 
a  faltering  voice,  while  her  pale  blue  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  matting  at  her  feet. 

"  Tell  her  to  come,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  and 
the  child  hurried  away  with  a  much  quicker  step 
than  that  with  which  she  had  entered. 

Immediately  a  small,  nervous  little  woman 
appeared,  with  a  cold,  rigid,  sallow  face,  small  gray 
eyes  and  sandy  hair,  bearing  in  her  arms  a  bundle 
of  soft  white  flannel,  which  she  pressed  mechan- 
ically to  her  well-rounded  bust,  and  without  any 
salutation  seated  herself  upon  a  wicker  chair,  and 
with  the  utmost  sang  froid  commenced  unrolling 
the  white  flannel  she  had  laid  upon  her  lap. 

"  It's  a  wee  darling,"  she  said,  after  a  lengthy 
pause,  during  which  time  she  had  exposed  a  little 
red  face  and  a  pair  of  diminutive  fists  all  ready  to 
begin  the  fierce  battles  of  life,  and  towards  which 
the  lady  did  not  deign  to  look. 

"  But  it's  a  pretty  thing,"  she  continued.  "Look 
at  it,  ma'am  ;  it's  as  fat  and  plump  as  a  baby  three 
weeks  old,  and  sleeps  as  quietly  as  though  it  had 


20  THE   MISTRESvS   OF   ROSKDALE. 

not  been  born  in  such  a  terrible  storm.  The  pretty 
dear!" 

"How  is  she?"  cooly  interrupted  the  stately 
lad3^  "  Your  patient  above  stairs,  I  mean  ;  is  she 
comfortable  ?" 

"  Of  course  she  is — the}^  always  are,  ma'am." 
And  she  chuckled  a  low,  unmusical  laugh  which 
accorded  well  with  the  mingled  murmurings  of  the 
expiring  storm  without. 

"  Tell  me  more  of  her,"  demanded  the  lady  im- 
periously.     "  Will  she  recover  soon  ?" 

"  I  think  so  ma'am  ;  but  she  will  need  a  long 
rest.  She  is  sleeping  now  as  gentle  as  a  kitten. 
But  she  was  pert  enough,  I  can  tell  you,  when  she 
knew  she  had  a  little  girl.  She  actually  laughed 
and  said  she  was  '  so  glad,'  and  was  going  to  call  it 
Lily  Pearl.  '  That  will  be  our  pet  names  joined  ;  he 
called  me  Lil}'  and  I  called  him  Pearl.  Lily-Pearl, 
that  shall  be  her  name.'  And  I  thought  I  would 
name  her  as  she  wished,  it  will  do  no  harm.  It  will 
be  a  queer  thing  to  fix  into  Blunt ;  but  we  shall 
get  used  to  it." 

The  lady  frowned,  but  there  might  have  been 
seen  a  moisture  in  her  large  dark  e3'es,  as  though 
the  heart  had  sent  up  a  little  maternal  love  from 
its  hidden  depths,  yet  her  stern  cold  words  checked 
them,  and  they  did  not  reveal  it. 

"  You  remember  our  contract?"  she  interrogated. 

"  O  3'es,  ma'am  ;  I  am  to  have  two  hundred  dol- 
lars upon  the  spot,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  every 
year  until  the  child  is  five  years  old ;  and  then  we 
are  to  have  a  new  bargain,  and  if  I  keep  the  girl  I 
shall  expect  you  to  do  something  handsome,  for 
you  know  she  will  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  me  before 
that   time,  nor  after  for  that  matter,  if  she  is  no 


MIDNIGHT    AT    CUFF    HOUSE.  21 

better  than  my  Maria."  Here  the  woman  paused, 
for  the  infant  on  her  lap  threw  up  its  tiny  fists  and 
uttered  a  feeble  cry. 

"  Poor  thing.  It's  cold,  and  will  want  something 
to  eat  pretty  soon,"  she  continued  as  she  folded  the 
soft  flannel  again  around  it. 

"  I  see  you  have  not  forgotten  the  reward;  your 
duties,  I  hope,  are  equally  clear  to  your  memory." 

"  O  yes,  ma'am." 

"Well  then,  I  do  not  want  her  to  see  the  child 
again  !  It  will  be  so  much  easier  for  her  to  forget 
that  she  ever  had  one.  It  is  no  doubt  a  lawful 
child  as  she  asserts,  as  far  as  her  age  can  make  it 
so — but  as  I  told  you  she  is  only  fifteen  and  a  few 
years  will  cover  up  this  night  forever!  As  soon  as 
it  is  light,  take  it  to  your  home  and  care  for  it  as 
you  will;  that  is,  be  a  mother  to  it  and  /will  take 
care  of  the  rest.  But  remember  one  thing !  I 
demand  you  to  forget  that  she  ever  mentioned  the 
silly  name  of  'Lily  Pearl !'  Call  her  anything  else 
you  please ;  let  me  see, — Phebe,  yes — that  will  do! 
Phebe  Blunt!  Now  leave  her  with  me  for  a  few 
moments  and  return  to  the  chamber,  she  may  need 
you  by  this  time.  But  stay  a  moment ;  "  and  the 
lady  reached  out  her  hands  to  receive  the  little 
bundle. 

"Can  you  not  keep  her  dozy — sleepy^  I  mean  for 
a  short  time  until  she  gains  a  little  strength?  She 
will  need  it  you  know  in  order  to  bear  the  news, 
she  will  be  obliged  to  hear !  Are  you  sufficiently 
skilled  in  your  profession  to  do  this  without  in- 
jury?" 

"To  be  sure  I  am  ma'am  I  It's  what  she  needs, 
and  if  we  don't  there  will  be  no  pacifying  her 
about  her  baby." 


22  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"You  can  tell  her;"  replied  the  lady,  "If  she  is 
troublesome,  that  she  is  not  able  to  see  it  at  pres- 
ent;   she  must  wait  awhile!    Now  go!" 

The  woman  obeyed  and  with  a  cat-like  tread  left 
the  room  a  very  significant  smile  lighting  her  hard 
features;  and  the  little  babe  who  had  jnst  entered 
upon  a  life  of  storms  and  tempests  lay  still  and  mo- 
tionless upon  the  rich  dress  of  the  beautiful  lady 
who  should  have  wound  her  jeweled  arms  about  the 
tiny  form  and  vowed  to  protect  the  helpless  one  in 
whose  veins  her  own  blood  was  coursing;  from  the 
terrors  of  the  threatening  blasts.  But  pride  and 
an  unnatural  ambition  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
love  that  had  once  ruled  her  heart  and  better  na- 
ture, and  the  good  God  had  give  her  knelt  in  hum- 
ble subjugation  at  their  feet. 

She  uncovered  the  little  features  before  her  and 
gazed  long  and  fixedl}^  upon  them,  while  her 
thoughts  ran  back  over  the  short  path  which  had 
wound  so  pleasantly  along  through  the  last  fifteen 
years  since  her  own  beautiful  Lillian  lay  upon  her 
lap,  the  idol  of  him  wdio  had  fallen  by  the  flowery 
way  over  which  her  memory  was  wandering  ;  and 
for  a  time  it  stopped  by  a  grassy  mound  at  which 
she  often  knelt  in  the  twilight  hour  under  the 
shadows  of  the  fir  tree,  and  a  tear  fell  upon  the  in- 
nocent upturned  face;  and  a  low  wail  penetrated 
her  ear.  For  a  moment  she  pressed  the  tiny  form 
to  her  heaving  bosom  and  her  heart  whispered, 
"She  shall  not  want — /  will  care  for  her — my  Lil- 
lian's babe  !"  She  took  the  little  hand  in  hers  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  then  with  an  impulse  un- 
premeditated she  unfastened  its  dress  and  exposed 
the  pretty  pink  shoulders  to  view.  She  started, 
and  a  faint  cry  broke  from  her  lips  which  awoke 


MIDNIGHT    AT    CLIFF    HOUSE.  ^o 

the  slumbering  echoes  in  the  room.  Upon  either 
shoulder  a  little  purple  spot  was  plainly  visible,  the 
same  over  which  her  maternal  pride  had  lamented 
sixteen  years  before  !  There  the}/  were — the  very 
same  !  With  a  tremor  of  deep  regret  she  hastily 
covered  them  again  and  wrapped  the  soft  warm 
blankets  about  it  tenderly  as  she  laid  it  down  once 
more  upon  her  lap.  A  few  moments  later  the 
timid  Maria  entered  to  take  the  babe  to  the  kitch- 
en, and  with  an  assumed  hauteur  the  lad}'  yielded 
up  her  charge  and  it  was  carried  from  the  room. 
The  fury  of  the  storm  had  passed,  though  there  were 
clouds  still  lurking  in  the  sky  and  the  dismal  At- 
lantic kept  up  its  fitful  roar;  but  the  winds  had 
ceased  and  the  rain  drops  fell  leisurely  from  the 
eaves  down  upon  the  gravel  walks,  and  the-  old 
house-dog  slept  quietly  in  his  kennel  by  the  gate. 
But  greater  than  the  storm  without  had  been,  was 
the  tumult  of  emotion  that  was  still  raging  in  the 
bosom  of  her  who  now  walked  with  unsteady  step 
up  and  down  the  spacious  parlor  with  folded  hands 
and  care-worn  expression  on  her  handsome  face, 
which  many  long  years  with  all  their  changes  and 
bereavements  could  not  have  placed  there.  "It 
must  be  !"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  and  slowly  leaving 
the  room  she  ascended  to  a  distant  chamber  where 
her  daughter, — her  beautiful  Lillian,  lay  pale  and 
restless  on  her  bed  in  an  unnatural  sleep. 

The  mother  drew  aside  the  thick  folds  of  the 
curtains  which  shut  her  in  and  gazed  fixedly  upon 
her  waxen  features.  How  wan  they  looked  !  The 
rose  tints  were  all  faded  from  her  cheeks  and  lips; 
and  face  seemed  as  cold  and  white  as  though  just 
chiseled  from  the  unfeeling  marble  by  the  cunning 


24  THE   xAIISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

hand  of  art.     By  and  by  the  white  lips  moved  and 
a  few  audible  words  escaped  them. 

"  She  is  dreaming"  the  mother  thought,  and 
bent  her  stately  head  to  listen.  "  It  is  ours — my 
Pearl — our  sweet  Lily — ou7-s^  I  am  dying — dying — 
Pearl — Ivil}^"  The  curtains  fell  again  around  the 
uneasy  sleeper  and  with  a  wildly  throbbiug  heart 
the  wretched  mother  sank  down  upon  a  chair  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  angel  of 
maternal  pity  came  and  rolled  away  the  stone  from 
the  sealed  fountain  of  her  tears,  and  she  wept ! 

Three  days  with  their  glooni}^  nights  dragged 
laggardly  and  wearil}^  by,  and  the  tall  lady  in 
black  bent  tenderly  over  the  pale  languid  form  on 
the  bed,  bathing  the  white  brow  and  striving  to 
arouse  her  from  the  long  stupor  by  endearing 
words  and  soft  caresses. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  at  last;  "  bring  my  babe  to 
me  will  you?  I  want  to  see  her  sweet  face  before 
I  die!  Love  her  mother,  and  call  her  your  own 
precious  Lillian, — give  her  my  room  and  tell  her 
when  old  enough  to  understand  that  there  the  life 
began  which  withered  and  died  when  its  beautiful 
blossom  budded  into  life!     Will  you  motlier?" 

"  You  are  not  going  to  die  my  daughter  !  You 
are  very  weak  now,  it  is  true,  but  3'ou  will  soon  be 
stronger.  Wait  until  then,  for  it  would  be  disas- 
trous for  you  to  see  her  now.  The  excitement 
might  overcome  you.  Wait  dear — your  mother 
knows  best.  Close  your  eyes  and  rest.  Just  as 
soon  as  it  is  proper  you  shall  see  your  babe."  And 
she  kissed  the  pale  brow  with  hot  quivering  lips, 
and  turned  away  to  gain  new  strength  from  the 
vile  spirit  within  for  the  conflict  through  which  it 
was  to  lead  her. 


MIDNIGHT    AT    CLIFF    HOUSE.  25 

A  week  more  and  the  cry  of  the  mother's  heart 
for  its  first  born  would  not  be  hushed, 

"  My  daughter,"  whispered  the  weeping  mother, 
"believe  me,  my  ^oor,  poor  child!  This  is  the 
bitterest  hour  of  my  life,  for  the  words  your  en- 
treaties compel  me  to  utter  will  fall  sadly  on  your 
heart  my  poor  Lillian  !  But  it  must  be  done ! 
Bear  them  my  daughter  with  all  the  fortitude  of 
which  you  are  capable!"  The  lips  that  were  al- 
ready polluted  with  the  falsehoods  they  were  about 
to  utter  pressed  the  white  ashy  ones  of  her  child  as 
the  demon  of  remorse  was  introduced  into  the 
chamber  of  her  soul  which  was  to  poison  ever  after 
the  fountain  of  her  existence,  and  people  her  mid- 
night vigils  with  spectral  fears. 

"  It  is  all  for  the  best!  Think  so  my  darling 
and  do  not  grieve  that  God  has  transplanted  your 
beautiful  Lily  to  a  more  genial  clime  before  its 
purity  was  soiled  by  the  contaminations  of  this 
tainted  life.  It  is  safe  now ;  and  by  and  by  it  shall 
be  given  back  to  you,  and  with  this  assurance  do 
not  murmur!"  Her  words  fell  unheeded  upon  ears 
that  were  sealed  from  all  earthly  sounds;  but  they 
were  heard!  The  dark,  dark  falsehood  was  regis- 
tered in  letters  of  fire  where  no  mortal  hand  could 
ever  blot  them  out.  How  true  that  "  upon  the 
wicked  he  shall  rain  snares,  fire  and  brimstone, 
and  a  horrible  tempest,  and  this  shall  be  the  por- 
tion of  their  cup." 

'^I  have  killed  her !  I  have  killed  her!"  almost 
shrieked  the  miserable  mother,  and  with  a  tremb- 
ling hand  she  frantically  rang  the  bell.  Little 
Maria  immediately  appeared,  and  with  as  much 
composure  as  she  could  command  the  lady  asked  if 
mother  was  still  in  the  house. 


2G  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  No  ma'am,  she's  just  gone,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then  run  for  her!  Hasten,  O  hasten!" 
pleaded  the  miserable  woman,  and  the  child  obeyed. 
Rapidly  did  she  chafe  the  cold  hands  of  the  insen- 
sible Lillian,  but  no  "comforter"  came  to  the  sin- 
stained  heart  to  drive  away  its  despair.  Many 
moments  passed  and  she  was  alone  with  the 
motionless  form  of  her  for  whom  she  wonld  sixteen 
years  before  have  laid  down  her  life.  What  agon- 
izing thoughts  burned  themselves  into  her  brain 
as  she  watched  the  feebl}^  returning  breath  and 
saw  with  a  bound  of  joy  the  soft  tint  steal  again 
into  the  closed  lips.  At  last  the  eyes  were  slowly 
opened  and  fixed  themselves  on  the  blanched  face 
bending  over  her.  Then  came  a  whisper  so  feeble 
that  the  stately  head  bent  low  to  listen.  "I  am 
better  now.  Kiss  me  mother.  Let  me  lay  my  head 
on  your  bosom,  and  sing  to  me  as  3^ou  used  to  do  ! 
Hark  !  how  the  ocean  roars  !  Listen — it  is  calling 
— calling — my  Lily,  my  noble  Pearl.  O  my  hus- 
band, when  may  he  come  to  me?  We  are  not 
children !  Am  I  not  a  mother?  Is  he  not  the 
father  of  my  child?" 

"  Do  not^  Lillian,  you  are  very  ill !  Have  you 
forgotten  what  your  father  told  you?  He  is  where 
your  babe  has  gone  you  know;  but  his  last  words 
were:  'My  daughter;  trust  3^our  mother  alwa3'-s, 
and  be  guided  by  her  superior  wisdom.'  I  am  older 
than  you  and  know  what  is  best  for  one  in  your 
present  position;  and  if  3^ou  will  wait  and  be  quiet 
all  things  will  come  out  right  at  last." 

"Yes,  mother.  Let  us  go  home  where  the  odor 
of  the  orange-blossoms  will  bring  me  back  to  life, 
and  old  auntie  can  tell  me  all  about  it !  Her  little 
ones   were  all  taken,  and  I  never  knew  how  her 


MIDNIGHT   AT   CLIFF   HOUSE.  27 

poor  heart  aclied.  I  think  I  dreamed  mother,  for 
I  saw  my  pretty  Lily  carried  away  from  me 
and  I  could  not  reach  it  although  I  stretched  out 
my  arms  to  possess  her !  O  mother !  mother !  is 
?ny  child  deadr"^  and  the  large  eyes  looked  with  a 
steady  gaze  into  the  blanched  face  of  her  only 
parent,  who  was  chafing  with  a  caressing  motion 
the  little  white  hand  that  was  lying  so  lifelessly 
in  her  own.  In  vain  did  the  pallid  lips  strive  to 
answer  but  no  word  came  to  them. 

"  h  my  child  deadf''  she  asked  again  without 
removing  her  eyes. 

"  Dcad^  my  daughter,"  at  last  fell  from  her  icy 
lips,  and  another  sin-stain  was  stamped  on  her  al- 
ready polluted  soul  that  an  ocean  of  tears  could 
never  wash  away. 

"  Dead'''  she  murmured,  and  the  beautiful  eyes 
again  closed  while  the  wretched  mother  sat  by  and 
trembled. 

In  the  darkness  that  enveloped  her  how  gladly 
would  the  soul  have  looked  up  for  one  little  ray  of 
light  and  comfort,  but  the  pall  of  sin,  the  thick 
darkness  of  an  abiding  '  remorse'  had  settled  down 
over  every  glimmering  hope  and  not  a  gladsome 
beam  of  light  could  penetrate  its  dense  folds. 
Poor  soul  !  More  terrible  than  the  storm  that  had 
swept  over  the  sea,  when  the  words  of  the  dark 
falsehood  were  registered  where  no  mortal  hand 
could  *blot  them  out,  were  the  commotions  of  the 
tempest  tossed  soul  as  the  mother  watched  on  and 
the  moments  went  wearily  by  ! 

"Dead!"  again  whispered  the  pale  lips.  "My 
Lily,  my  Pearl !  Gone — all,  all  are  gone  !  Take 
me  home  mother — the  ocean  roars — the  dark 
waves   are   rolling  over  your  poor  Lillian  ; — let  us 


28 


THE   MIvSTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 


go  home,"  and  tlie  beautiful  head  turned  wearily 
upon  its  pillow  and  the  wretched  watcher  moaned 
in  her  anguish  ;  for  she  was  alone! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   LITTLE   MARINER    ALONE   UPON    THE    OCEAN. 

Six  years !  How  short  each  succeeding  round 
appears  when  one  has  almost  reached  the  moun- 
tain's top-most  peak  of  life's  upward  course  and 
knows  that  soon  his  feet  must  be  going  rapidly 
down  upon  the  other  side,  where  his  journey  ends  ! 
But  almost  interminable  their  length  to  the  weary 
little  foot-sore  traveler  who  wanders  alone  at  its 
base  ever  looking  upward  to  the  green  spots  on 
the  hillside  with  restless  longings.  Poor  little 
Phebe  !  The  first  words  that  fell  upon  her  un- 
appreciative  ear  were  mingled  with  the  requiem 
notes  over  departed  summer,  and  it  had  come  for 
the  sixth  time  since  that  eventful  night  with  its 
soft  breezes  and  sweet  melodies — with  its  beautiful 
flowers  and  singing  birds,  and  filled  the  heart  of 
the  lonely  child  full  of  the  glorious  sunshine. 
Now  she  could  sit  upon  the^  beach  and  watch  the 
white  sails  that  floated  away  over  the  waters  where 
the  golden  beams  kept  dancing  and  skipping  about 
upon  the  waves,  and  listen  to  the  deep,  low  mur- 
murings  of  the  sea  that  seemed  to  sing  to  her 
mysterious  songs,  until  the  angry  passions  within 
would  grow  calm  and  fairy  forms  would  lead  her 
away  to  that  far-off  land  where  in  dreams  she  often 
wandered.  Poor  little  Phebe !  She  was  an  un- 
fortunate child  "  always  in  the  way,  never  good  for 

29 


30  THE   MiSTRESvS   OF   ROSED  ALE. 

anything,  doing  nothing  she  onght'but  always  the 
ver}^  thing  she  shonld  uo/y  Never  in  favor,  at 
least  with  her  foster-mother,  who  almost  dail}^  de- 
clared "  that  the  paltry  hnndred  and  fifty  dollars 
didn't  begin  to  pay  for  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
the  disagreeable  child,"  and  3'et  it  would  have  been 
no  very  easy  task  to  compute  the  cost  of  the 
scanty  meal  which  twice  each  da}-  fell  to  the  little 
outcast  child  to  whom  the  thriving,  ambitious  j\Irs. 
Blunt  gave  a  shelter.  Sure  it  was  that  a  goodl}- 
sum  was  stored  away  in  the  old  oak  chest  which 
would  never  have  been  there  had  the  "  trouble- 
some child  "  not  found  her  way  into  the  fisherman's 
cottage. 

True,  there  was  nothing  that  was  winning  about 
the  diminutive  figure  with  the  sunburnt  face.  An 
unusual  growth  of  thick  dark-brown  hair  was  kept 
conveniently  "cropped,"  in  defiance  of  science  or 
taste,  close  to  her  well-rounded  head,  and  a  pair  of 
large  hazel  QyQS  seemed  to  be  alwaj^s  penetrating 
the  secret  depths  of  hearts  where  no  welcome 
greeted  them.  Her  dress  too  did  not  set  off  her 
little  dump3^  figure  to  the  best  advantage,  although 
it  was  often  of  the  finest  material,  being  generally 
the  cast-off  garments  of  the  "  misses  "  of  the  Cliff 
House,  which  were  duly  sent  ever}^  season  by  a 
servant  who  was  commanded  to  "  inquire  after  the 
little  girl  "  and  alwa3'S  returned  with  a  favorable 
report.  These  the  child  wore  regardless  of  size  or 
fitness,  and  as  she  wandered  alone  upon  the  beach 
wdth  her  sad  face  and  thoughtful  eyes  turned  up- 
ward gazing  into  the  deep  blue  sky  or  aw^ay  in  the 
dreamy  distance  one  might  have  been  pardoned 
ior  calling  the  queer  little  figure  gnome,  or  witch, 
as  the  fanc}'  struck  him. 


ALONE   UPON   THE   OCEAN.  31 

"  Where  under  the  sun  has  that  little  imp  gone 
to  now!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blunt  entering  the  room 
one  day  where  her  daughter  Maria,  a  pale,  sickly 
girl  of  sixteen,  was  sitting,  as  she  deposited  her 
basket  of  vegetables  upon  the  bare  floor  in  no  very 
amiable  mood 

"I  do  declare!  She's  the  most  provoking  crea- 
ture I  ever  saw !  I  told  her  to  have  all  the  knives 
scoured  before  I  came  in  from  the  garden  and 
positively  there  has  only  two  of  them  been  touched 
and  they  are  lying  out  there  in  the  sun  growing 
blacker  than  ever  and  she  is  nowhere  to  be  seen  ! 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her  !  It  don't  do  a 
bit  of  good  to  whip  her — not  a  bit — and  I  don't 
know  as  anything  but  killing  would  effect  her  at 
all !  She  smiled  feebly  as  this  last  observation 
fell  from  her  lips,  while  the  daughter  laughed  out- 
right. 

"  No  it  don't !"  said  the  girl,  quickly  seeing  that 
the  fury  of  the  storm  had  for  the  time  passed  and 
the  mother  was  about  to  lift  the  basket  and  pass 
into  the  kitchen  ;  "it  don't  do  a  bit  of  good  to  whip 
her !  It  only  makes  her  mad  and  more  willful ! 
Suppose  we  try  coaxing  for  a  time  just  to  see  how 
it  will  work.  I  think  there  is  good  in  her  but 
cross  words  will  never  bring  it  out !" 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  it !  If  we  don't  hear 
from  that  woman  before  a  great  while  she  may  go 
and  find  some  one  to  coax  her  besides  7ne\  I  don't 
like  her  well  enough  to  begin  !" 

"  I  presume  she  has  not  come  back  from  Europe 
yet,"  said  the  daughter  musingly ;  then  she  spoke 
more  audibly.  "  I  wouldn't  send  her  off  yet, 
mother ;  remember  we  have  almost  enough  for 
father  to  buy  a  fishing  smack  of  his  own,  then  we 


32  THK    ^IISTRKSS    OF    R0SE:DALE. 

shall  be  quite  rich,"  and  the  blue  eyes  of  the  pale 
face  lighted  up  with  the  anticipation. 

"  HnnipJi!  Well  she  has  got  to  do  better  than 
she  has  if  she  wants  to  stay  here!"  and  with  this 
satisfactory  conclusion  she  disappeared  with  her 
basket  through  the  narrow  door  into  the  kitchen. 
Maria  quietly  laid  aside  her  knitting  and  went  out 
where  upon  a  wooden  bench  standing  on  one  side 
of  the  humble  cottage  lay  the  neglected  knives 
which  she  in  a  very  short  time  polished  and  put 
away  in  the  narrow  wicker  basket  on  the  dresser, 
then  taking  her  neatly  starched  sun  bonnet  from 
its  nail  in  the  entry  and  placing  it  on  her  head 
passed  out  through  the  garden  down  a  narrow  foot- 
path across  the  common  to  the  sea  shore.  She  was 
in  quest  of  the  truant  Phebe,  and  well  did  she 
know  where  to  find  her.  Walking  along  a  few 
rods  by  the  sandy  beach  she  came  suddenl}-  to  the 
foot  of  a  steep  ascent  whose  side  facing  the  sea 
was  almost  entirely  composed  of  precipitous  rocks 
unevenly  thrown  together,  while  here  and  there  a 
stunted  pine  or  a  yellow  clump  of  moss  struggled 
for  existence.  Here  too,  half  way  down  the  rugged 
descent  Phebe  lay  concealed  in  her  coz}^  retreat, 
sheltered  from  the  summer  sun  b)-  the  rocks  above 
her,  with  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  boundless 
ocean  spread  out  to  her  delighted  gaze.  In  a  few 
moments  Maria  was  sitting  by  her  side.  She  did 
not  seem  at  all  surprised  at  the  presence  of  her 
visitor,  but  raising  herself  remarked  quietly: 
"  Maria  how  can  those  birds  stand  on  the  water 
out  there?  /can't  do  it.  I  wish  /could  lie  down 
on  that  wave  that  keeps  rocking — rocking  and 
singing — why    can't    I   Maria?     Hark !     Do    they 


ALONE  UPON  THE  OCEAN.  33 

talk  to  3^011 — the  waves?  Did  they  ever  say '  come 
here?  come  here?'     Thej^  do  to  ;;/<;'." 

"You  arc  a  queer  child !"  replied  Maria  im- 
patiently, forgetting  for  the  time  the  grand  pur- 
pose of  her  visit.  "  But  why  don't  you  try  to  be 
a  good  girl  and  do  as  mother  wants  to  have  you? 
This  morning  she  told  3'ou  to  scour  the  knives 
which  you  know  is  your  work  every  day,  and  wJiy 
didn't  you  stay  and  do  it  and  not  make  her  so 
cross  with  you?" 

"  'Cause — "  interrupted  the  child;  "  I  don't  like 
to  scour  knives  and  I  ain't  a-going  to!" 

"  You  don't  like  to  be  zvJiippcd  either,"  answered 
Mary;  "but  you  know  mother  will  do  it  if  you 
don't  mind  her!" 

"/don't  much  care,"  said  the  child,  shrugging 
her  shoulders,  as  she  settled  herself  down  with 
calm  composure. 

"  /  don't  care  rmich.  I'll  be  big  some  day,  and 
then  she  won't  dare !  O  Maria,  see  that  wave 
dash  up  on  the  rock,  and  break  all  to  pieces.  Some- 
how— " 

"  Never  mind  the  waves ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
Do  you  love  me,  Phebe?" 

"  IvOve  you?  What  is  that?  I  don't  love  no- 
thing," and  then  starting  up  and  rubbing  both  her 
dirty  hands  across  her  brown  forehead,  an  act  she 
always  performed  when  some  new  thought  flashed 
up  from  within,  she  exclaimed:  "  O,  Maria!  last 
night,  when  father  and  mother  thought  I  w^as  asleep 
in  my  trundle-bed,  I  heard  her  say  that  somebody 
had  paid  lots  of  money  for  me.  or  something;  and 
then  she  laughed  and  said  I  didn't  look  much  like 
a  '  lily,'  and  guessed  that  if  my  mother  could  see 
me   now,   she'd  be  glad  'cause    my    name  wasn't 


34  THE   MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

'Lily-Pearl.'  O  Maria!  IV/iat  did  she  mean? 
^  Lily-Pcarl !^^  I  keep  saying  it  all  the  time. 
That's  my  name  ;  and  O  it's  sncli  a  pretty  one. 
Lily-Pearl !  Pearls  come  np  ont  of  the  ocean.  The 
teacher  said  so  the  other  day,  and  I  guess  tJiafs 
what  makes  7ne  love  the  sea  so  much.  Who  is  my 
mother,  Maria?  And  what  makes  you  call  me 
Phebe  Blunt,  when  it's  Lily-Pearl  ?  I  don't  like  it, 
and  I  won't  have  such  an  ugly  name.  Tell  me, 
who  2S  my  mother  ?"  Maria  was  a  long  time  silent, 
while  a  deeper  pallor  overspread  her  face.  But 
the  large,  wondering  eyes  of  her  interrogator  were 
fixed  intentl}^  upon  it.  How  could  she  answer  ? 
It  was  a  secret  that  never  was  to  be  mentioned  ; 
yet  well  did  she  know  that  Phebe  would  never  rest 
with  this  sly  peep  into  the  exciting  mystery,  and 
it  would  be  as  well  to  satisf}'  her  now  as  an}-  time, 
and  so  she  said  mildly  : 

"  I  don't  know,  Phebe,  who  3^oiir  mother  is  ;  but 
she  was  beautiful,  and  without  doubt  rich,  and,  I 
think,  would  have  been  \^ry  glad  to  have  kept 
3^ou,  had  it  not  been  for  her  proud,  wicked  mother, 
who  did  not  think  it  best,  and  so  yow  came  to  live 
with  us.  Now,  wasn't  mother  kind  to  take  care  of 
370U  when  a  little  baby,  and  shouldn't  j'*?;/  try  to  be 
good,  and  do  as  she  tells  you,  to  pay  her  for  her 
trouble?" 

Phebe  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  her 
thoughtful  eyes  were  penetrating  the  deep  blue  far 
away.  "  No,"  she  said  at  last.  "  She  might  have 
thrown  me  back  into  the  sea,  where  the  pearls 
grow.  But  I  knew  she  zuasii't  my  mother,"  she 
continued  musingly,  as  she  pointed  her  finger  in 
the  direction  of  the  cottage. 

"  What  made  you  think  so  ?"  asked  Alaria. 


ALONE    UPON    THE   OCEAN.  35 

"  Because,  if  she  was,  she  would  kiss  me  like 
Lutie  Grant's  mother  does.  She  always  says, 
'good  morning,  daughter,'  and  kisses  her  when 
she  goes  to  school.  I  wonder  what  good  it  does, 
though,  she  continued,  musingly.  "  /  was  never 
kissed  in  my  life." 

"That  is  one  way  to  love,"  answered  Maria  with 
a  smile.  "  Now  will  you  be  a  good  little  girl  if  / 
kiss  you  and  love  you  ?" 

"  MaA^be  so,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Maria  put  her  arms  around  the  child's  neck  and 
drew  her  towards  her,  imprinting  upon  her  lips 
a  hearty  kiss. 

"  Pshaw!  Thafs  notning  !"  she  replied,  disdain- 
fully.    "  Is  that  love,  Maria  ?" 

"  No ;  it  was  a  kiss.  If  you  loved  me,  you 
wouldn't  say  pshaw!  but  kiss  me  as  I  did  you. 
Now  come,  let  us  go  to  the  house.  Remember,  I 
have  told  you  a  secret  about  your  mother  and  this 
will  make  us  friends.  You  must  not  tell  any  one, 
or  even  speak  about  the  beautiful  lady  for  mother 
would  be  very  angry  because  I  talked  about  it; 
and  don't  forget  that  you  promised  to  be  just  as 
good  as  you  can  be,  which  I  am  sure  will  be  all 
right,  and  by  and  bv  we  shall  all  love  you. 
Come!" 

"  I  shan't  go  !  She  will  want  me  to  wash  pota- 
toes, or  something,  and  I  zvojiH  do  it." 

"  But  you  promised  that  you  would  be  a  good 
girl  if  I  would  love  you,  and  this  is  not  keeping 
3^our  promise." 

"O  you  don't  love  me;  you  only  want  me  to  go 
home  and  scour  knives,  and  I  don't  like  to  scour 
knives,  and  I  won'^t^  either." 


36  THE   MISTRESS  OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  But  mother  will  whip  you  wheu  you  do  come 
home,  and  I  don't  like  to  see  you  whipped ;  why 
won't  you  come  now?'' 

Phebe  looked  at  her  companion  with  surprise. 
She  had  never  heard  her  talk  so  gently  and  feel- 
ingly before.  For  a  moment  she  was  almost 
tempted  to  yield.  Maria  saw  her  advantage  and 
once  more  urged  the  willful  child  to  accompany  her. 
Phebe's  eyes  turned  again  towards  the  sea. 

"O  Maria,  Maria!  see  that  big  wave  chase  the 
other  clear  up  on  the  sand  !" 

And  the  little  dumpy  form  swayed  to  and  fro 
while  her  large  eyes  glistened.  Maria  turned 
hopelessl}^  away.  Her  experiment  had  failed.  "The 
child  is  past  redemption,"  she  thought,  as  she 
walked  moodily  home.  Phebe  sat  a  long  time  gaz- 
ing out  from  her  rocky  "  eyrie  "  by  the  sea,  think- 
ing over  and  over  again  the  little  stor}^  to  which 
she  had  just  listened,  and  wondering  how  the  beau- 
tiful lady  looked  ;  and  if  she  really  was  her  mother, 
and  if,  instead  of  being  brought  by  an  angel,  as 
Lutie  Grant  said  her  little  sister  was,  she  had  been 
picked  up  from  off  the  ocean  b}^  somebody  she  had 
never  seen,  and  so  they  called  her  "  Lily-Pearl !" 
By  and  by  a  sudden  impulse  took  possession  of 
her. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  where  that  sail  boat  was 
going  that  had  just  rounded  the  point  yonder!" 
It  had  disappeared  from  sight,  but  zvJiere  had  it 
gone  ?  With  rapid  steps  she  ascended  the  rocks, 
and  ran  up  the  hill  with  her  utmost  speed  and  then 
descended  into  a  broad,  thick  woodland,  where  for 
a  time  she  forgot  her  haste,  listening  to  the  music 
of  the  birds  and  gathering  wild  flowers  that  were 
growing  all  about  her.     Still  she  wandered  on.    It 


ALONE  UPON  THE  OCEAN.  37 

was  past  noon-day  when  she  emerged  from  the 
woods  and  espied  just  before  her,  on  a  slight  ele- 
vation, a  beautiful  house — the  house  where  she 
was  born !  There  was  nothing  here,  however, 
to  reveal  the  interesting  fact  to  the  little  wan- 
derer, and  so  she  traveled  on,  stopping  only  for  a 
moment  to  peep  through  the  heavy  iron  gate  at  two 
pretty  children  who  were  playing  in  the  yard,  skip- 
ping and  jumping  along  the  gravel  walk  ;  and  then, 
as  if  fearful  of  being  discovered,  started  off  as  fast 
as  possible,  leaping  down  the  edge  of  the  cliff  until 
she  reached  the  sandy  beach  far  below.  Here  she 
stopped.  The  pretty  sail  boat  that  had  allured  her 
hither  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  weary  and 
heated,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground  and 
watched  the  rising  tide  as  it  came  dashing  upon 
the  beach.  It  had  risen  rapidly,  when  suddenly 
she  became  aware  that  a  dark  object  was  floating 
near  her  on  the  water.  It  was  a  small  row  boat 
often  used  by  the  inmates  of  Cliff  House,  but  which 
the  tide  had  washed  from  its  moorings,  and  was 
now  with  its  bow  still  clinging  to  the  sandy  beach, 
swaying  impatiently  at  her  feet,  restless  as  her  own 
adventurous  spirit.  With  a  scream  of  delight  she 
sprang  into  the  frail  bark,  and  soon  found  herself 
floating  steadily  and  rapidly  away  from  the  shore. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  out  upon  the  waves 
where  she  had  so  longed  to  be,  amid  the  sparkling 
gems  which  the  sunbeams  were  scattering  all 
around  her,  while  the  huge  billows  just  beyond 
beckoned  her  to  follow.  A  small  oar  lay  by  her 
feet,  and  with  this  she  caressed  the  ripples  and 
drew,  now  and  then  from  the  unknown  depths,  the 
dark-green  seaweed  that  floated  by. 


38 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALK. 


Thug  she  was  borne  away,  uiiiiiinclful  of  the  dan- 
ger into  which  her  wild  spirit  was  leading  her,  and 
heeding  not  the  sun  descending  into  the  dark, 
gloomy  clouds  that  hung  about  his  ocean  bed,  for 
she  was  happy  now  ;  alone  upon  the  boundless  sea, 
her  life  had  become  the  fair}'  dream  in  which  she 
had  so  often  revelled  while  closeted  in  her  rocky 
retreat,  from  which  she  was  floating  forever. 

She  was  no  more  a  child,  but  a  wave — a  billow — 
one  of  those  which  had  sunof  to  her  so  often  while 
she  sat  and  watched  them,  and  her  low,  sweet  voice 
joined  in  the  anthem  of  the  sea  as  if  it  said — 

"  Rock  iiie,  niotlier,  gently  rock  me, 
Sing  the  songs  I  love  so  well." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  WAIF  AFTER  THE   STORM. 

Phebe  listened  to  the  rolling  music  with  an 
ectasy  never  before  experienced  in  her  wildest 
dreams,  and  as  the  winds  moaned  on  the  distant 
shore  and  the  sea-birds  shrieked  their  sad  ac- 
companiment to  the  chorus  of  her  song,  she  fell 
asleep  hungry  and  weary. 

Little  slumberer,  who  shall  guide  thy  frail  bark, 
unseen  by  mortal  eye,  over  the  trackless  waves? 
Who  shall  check  the  rising  storm  and  temper  the 
fury  of  the  winds  to  the  poor  lone  lamb?  An  eye 
is  upon  thee  and  thou  cans't  not  perish  !  A  sure 
hand  is  at  the  helm,  and  the  frail  bark  shall  ride 
gloriously  over  the  angry  deep,  and  a  sweet  voice 
near  thee  shall  whisper  ^'  peace,  be  still !" 

It  was  quite  dark  when  the  rolling  thunder 
awoke  the  sleeper,  and  with  a  scream  of  horror  she 
sprang  to  her  feet  to  find  her  alluring  dreams,  her 
fancied  bliss,  all  dispelled  as  the  realities  of  danger 
burst  upon  her.  She  called  loudly,  but  the  sea 
gave  only  a  dismal  echo  to  her  ears  ;  she  shouted 
but  the  deep-toned  thunders  alone  sent  back  a 
reply.  Where  now  was  the  brightness  that  had 
so  dazzled  her?  The  sunbeams  had  gathered  up 
all  their  sparkling  gems  and  with  them  had  dis- 
appeared !  The  music  of  the  waves  had  died  away, 
the   little    song   which    a   few   hours  before  had 

39 


40  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

bubbled  up  in  her  jo3'ous  heart  was  hushed,  and 
all  was  darkness  and  gloom.  Ah,  little  mariner, 
life  is  full  of  just  such  changes!  Sunshine  and 
tempest — nooiida}'  and  darkness  ;  all  interming- 
ling their  lights  and  shades !  Thy  first  great 
lesson  is  a  sad  one,  but  it  will  never  leave  thee. 
Better  so  than  that  it  should  be  onl}-  half  learned. 

Phebe  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  famished 
with  hunger,  wet  with  the  drenching  rain,  pale 
and  sick,  when  the  captain  of  a  gallant  yacht 
which  had  "laid  to"  during  the  storm,  espied  from 
its  deck  a  little  speck  far  away  to  leeward,  appar- 
ently l3'ing  still  upon  the  waters. 

"  I  say,  Thornton,"  he  remarked  to  a  shipmate 
near  him  ;  "  isn't  that  a  boat  off  3'onder?  Here — 
take  the  glass  !  I  can  liardl}^  make  it  out.  But 
it's  something,  whether  there's  any  life  about  it 
or  not." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  boat  clear  enough,"  replied  his  com- 
panion ejxing  it  intentl}' ;  "  but  I  imagine  it's  one 
that  has  been  washed  from  some  ship  during  the 
storm  for  there  is  nothing  alive  about  it  as  I  can 
see." 

"  I  think  you  are  right  so  we'll  leave  it  to  its 
fate." 

In  a  few  moments  the  beautiful  craft  had  disap- 
peared and  the  little  boat  with  its  helpless  occu- 
pant was  left  unheeded  except  by  Him  who  permits 
not  a  sparrow  to  fall  to  the  ground  without  his 
notice.  Ah — th}^  fate  was  near  thee,  little  one  but 
the  unseen  hand  has  removed  it  and  it  is  well ! 
Through  the  waves  the  yacht  ploughed  its  wa}^, 
for  the  breakers  were  rushing  back  from  the  shore 
and  all  on  board  save  one  returned  to  their  berths 
for  the   rest   that  had   been  deprived  them  by  the 


AFTER    THE    STORM.  41 

howling  winds  and  the  tossing  of  the  staunch  hull 
which  the  day  before  had  seemed  so  sure  and  safe 
in  its  strength,  but  which  the  billows  bore  high  on 
their  foaming  crests,  then  dashed  as  a  helpless 
thing  into  the  dark  furrows  the  storm-king  had 
ploughed  out  from  the  angry  deep  as  he  marched 
onward !  O  the  horrors  of  a  night  spent  amid  a 
"  storm  at  sea  !" 

Seated  in  one  of  the  state  rooms  was  a  tall, 
queenly  woman,  robed  in  a  rich  desJiahille  of  gray 
silk,  with  her  elbow  resting  on  the  window  sill,  her 
hand  supporting  the  head  that  bent  wearily  upon 
it,  while  her  dark  eyes  gazed  through  the  heavy 
plate  glass  out  upon  the  black  waters  that  kept 
dashing  and  surging  against  the  victorious  yacht 
proudly  crushing  the  intruding  waves  that  pre- 
sumed to  cross  its  pathway. 

"  ]\Iother,"  said  a  winning  voice  near,  "why  will 
you  not  lie  down  awhile  before  breakfast?  The 
danger  is  all  over,  and  listen !  Hear  how  calmly 
the  seamen  walk  the  deck!  I  presume  everyone 
has  concluded  to  make  up  for  the  fearful  lying 
awake  and  will  not  be  astir  for.  two  hours  at  least. 
Come  mother !" 

"  No — I  can  rest  here  !  We  shall  be  out  another 
night,  and  it  may  be  two^"^  was  the  desponding  re- 
ply. 

"You  used  to  sing  '  life  on  the  ocean  wave' 
mother,  and  I  remember  your  saying  once  that  you 
had  no  sympathy  with  Headley  who  declared  that 
'  to  sing  that  song  by  a  good  warm  fire  and  being 
in  it  were  two  very  different  experiences,'  iox  you 
rather  enjoyed  the  one  you  passed  through  during 
your  first  voyage." 


4:2  THE   MISTRESS   OE    ROSEDALE. 

"  Yes,  child,  I  remember  !  I  was  not  as  old  then 
as  now  ;"  and  she  might  have  added  "  and  not  as 
guilty  then  as  now;"  but  they  passed  on. 

It  was  nearly  noon  before  a  coasting  vessel  came 
in  sight,  and  spying  the  little  boat  that  was  float- 
ing amid  the  waves  the  kind-hearted  captain 
ordered  three  sturdy  tars  to  go  and  capture  it. 

"  Not  so  great  a  job  as  we've  had  sometimes," 
remarked  one  playfully 

"  Pull  away  boys,  see — there  is  something  in  the 
bottom  !  Steady, — "  and  as  they  came  alongside  the 
speaker  sprang  into  the  boat. 

"  Och — but  she's  dead  !"  exclaimed  Mike,  as  he 
raised  the  insensible  child  in  his  arms.  "She  is  ! 
lyook  at  her,  shipmates,"  he  continued  bringing 
her  forward  as  he  would  a  coil  of  rope. 

"  There  isn't  a  bit  of  color  in  her  face  under  the 
dirt ;  poor  wee  thing !"  and  he  passed  her  over  to  a 
man  with  a  very  brown,  weather-beaten  face,  who 
laid  her  tenderly  on  some  blankets  and  began 
chafing  her  hands. 

"  She  is  alive,  boys,"  he  said  a  few  minutes 
after;  "here  Mike — pass  me  that  little  bottle  I 
saw  you  put  in  your  pocket  this  morning,  it  looked 
to  me  like  very  good  brandy,"  he  continued  with  a 
laugh,  at  the  same  time  reaching  out  for  it. 

"  Sorra  a  bit  of  brandy P'' 

"  Never  mind,  pass  it  over,  whatever  it  is.  For 
once  I'll  not  expose  you  for  the  good  it  may  do 
now."  The  small  bottle  was  passed  and  the  kind 
man  placed  it  to  the  lips  of  the  insensible  girl. 
"  Drink  it,  child,"  he  said  in  tones  as  low  and 
soft  as  a  woman's  ;  "  it  will  make  you  well." 

She  did  not  hear  him;  yet  she  did  swallow 
the  few  drops  that  were  turned  into  her  mouth,  and 


Si 

a 
< 

O 

o 


AFTER   THE   STORM.  iS 

the  good  mau's  predictions  proved  correct,  for  in  a 
few  moments  she  opened  her  eyes,  but  turned  her 
head,  hid  her  face  in  the  blankets  on  which  she 
was  lying. 

"  She  is  afraid  of  our  hard  old  faces,"  remarked 
the  sailor  who  was  bending  over  her;  "  but  we  will 
soon  be  where  there  will  be  more  agreeable  ones. 
Give  way,  boys,  they  are  waiting  for  us,"  and  ris- 
ing, he  left  the  "  wee  "  stranger  to  herself. 

"  I  should  think  she  would  have  got  used  to 
ugly  faces  if  she  has  been  where  there's  a  glass," 
remarked  the  third  of  the  party,  rather  cruelly, 
but  laughing  and  good-natured.  They  reached 
the  schooner,  and  the  wearied  child  was  handed 
on  board,  amid  many  exclamations  and  intermin- 
gling remarks  of  sympathy  and  astonishment. 

There  were  two  women  down  in  the  small  cabin  ; 
one  the  wife  of  Mike,  who,  in  accordance  with  the 
kindness  natural  to  her  people,  took  the  little  out- 
cast mariner  under  her  especial  care,  and,  with 
feminine  instincts,  provided  for  her  wants. 

The  next  few  days  the  diminutive  figure  of 
Phebe  Blunt  sat  upon  the  dark,  dingy  chest  be- 
neath the  small  narrow  window  in  the  cabin,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  blue,  blue  sea  her  beating  heart 
so  much  loved,  as  it  gathered  up  the  jewels  of  em- 
erald, and  gold,  and  crystal  pearls  which  the  sun- 
beams scattered  upon  the  wavelets'  snowy  crests, 
and  with  them  her  fancy  built  a  palace  of  its  own, 
to  which  in  after  years  memory  would  often  return 
and  bear  away  some  precious  stones  to  adorn  her 
sober  real  life. 

"  Ye're  a  strange  child,"  said  Cathreen,  one  day, 
after  watching  her  for  a  long  time,  as  she  sat  coiled 
up  on  the  heavy  chest,  her  large  eyes  peering  from 


44  The  mistress  of  rosedale. 

the  window  at  the  dark  waters  over  which  they 
were  sailing.  "  What  makes  ye  look  so  much  at 
the  sea?  I'd  rather  see  the  land  any  time  ;  and  I 
wouldn't  care  a  farthing  if  I  never  put  my  eyes  on 
a  bit  of  water  again  as  long  as  I  live."  The  child 
turned  her  beaming  face  towards  the  speaker  with 
an  expression  of  wonder  and  incredulit}^  pla3dng 
over  it. 

^^  How  can  it?"  she  asked  at  last,  as  her  little 
brown  hands  brushed  back  the  mass  of  dark  hair 
from  her  broad  forehead. 

"Can  what?"  and  the  two  women  laughed  heartily. 

"  Walk  on  the  water.  I  couldn't,  and  I  don't 
believe  He  could,"  and  the  bewildered  gaze  was 
turned  again  out  of  the  narrow  window. 

"  IV//0,  child?     Are  you  beside  yourself?" 

"  Jzfe  !  Lutie  Grant's  mother  said  He  walked  on 
the  great  sea,  but  /  don't  believe  it.  How  could 
He?     /can't." 

"  Ye  don't  know  what  ye're  talking  about." 

"  Yes  she  does,"  interrupted  the  other.  "  It's 
Christ,  the  Bible  tells  about." 

"  And  he  used  to  love  little  girls,  and  took  'em 
up  and  kissed 'em;  she  said  so  ;  but,  pshaw!  that's 
notliing !  Maria  kissed  vie  once,  but  'twasn't 
much.  I'd  like  to  walk  on  the  water,  though," 
and  again  the  eyes  sought  the  far-off,  and  dropping 
her  head  upon  her  arms  sat  motionless  as  before. 

"  She's  a  puzzle,"  remarked  Cathreen  as  she 
went  about  her  work. 

"  I'd  just  like  to  know  who  she  is  and  where  she 
came  from,"  remarked  her  companion,  musingly. 
"  I  can  almost  believe  that  she  did  come  up  out  of 
the  sea,  as  she  says,  and  that  her  name  is  '  Lily- 
Pearl',"  and  she  laughed. 


AFTER  THE  STORM.  45 

There  was  a  third  one  who  had  been  listening 
to  the  conversation  from  the  narrow  stairway  that 
led  to  the  deck,  and  entering  at  this  moment,  said, 
gently  : 

"  I  think  I  know  some  one  who  would  enjoy 
working  out  this  'puzzle ',"  and  he  laid  his  hand 
tenderly  on  the  bushy  head  of  the  little  girl. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  home  with  me  and  live  ?" 
he  asked.  "  You  will  find  one  there  who  can  tell 
you  all  about  Him  who  walked  on  the  sea  and 
loved  little  children,  and  I  imagine  he  would  love 
you^  too,  for  there  is  more  in  this  little  heart  and 
brain  than  is  generally  given  to  one  so  3'oung  and 
ignorant,"  he  continued,  as  he  turned  to  the  won- 
dering women  who  were  listening. 

"  Ye're  not  going  to  take  her  home  with  ye  sii7'e^ 
Mr.  Evans  ?  Mike  said  that  he  guessed  we'd  take 
her;  she's  no  trouble  and  likes  the  water." 

Phebe  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  toward 
her  friend  who  said,  pleasantly : 

"  I  think  I  will  take  her  home  with  me  ;  and 
perhaps  we  will  hear  from  her  mother  or  somebod}^ 
who  will  want  her,  some  day,"  and  patting  the 
rounded  cheek,  left  the  cabin  and  ascended  to  the 
deck  while  Phebe  went  on  with  her  musings,  and 
the  two  women  commented  on  her  future  and  the 
"  strange  conduct  of  the  mate."  Yet,  all  unseen 
a  hand  was  tenderly  leading  the  little  stray  lamb 
back  to  its  fold  through  "pastures  green  "  and  "  by 
the  still  waters,"  where  the  thorns  and  the  briars 
were  scattered  along  its  banks,  and  where  the  poor 
feet  would  many  times  get  torn,  and  the  heart  grow 
faint ;  but  her  way  is  onward,  for  the  Father  lead- 
eth  her.  Somebody  has  said  that  "  God  will  make 
the  blind  bird's  nest,"  and  Faber  once  declared  that 


46  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

"  there  is  hardly  ever  a  complete  silence  in  our 
souls.  God  is  whispering  to  us  well  nigh  contin- 
ually. Whenever  the  sounds  of  the  world  die  out, 
then  we  hear  these  whisperings  of  God.  Was  He 
not  doing  this  to  our  little  mariner  ?  "  They  talk  to 
me,"  she  would  sa}^  and  in  her  innocence  it  was 
the  waves  that  talked — it  was  the  billows  that 
called,  but  the  Father's  tender  voice  was  whis- 
pering, and  his  loving  care  was  continuall}'  over 
her, 

"  The  wind  is  coming  up  again  pretty  brisk, 
mate,  and  I  guess  we  shall  have  another  rough 
night,"  said  the  captain,  as  he  met  the  other  on  his 
rounds  just  as  the  darkness  began  to  settle  down 
about  the  vessel. 

"  If  it  will  keep  in  the  northeast,  all  right ;  we 
will  reach  the  harbor  b}' to-morrow,"  and  he  walked 
thoughtfull}'  on. 

This  prediction  was  true.  In  less  than  a  half 
hour  the  gale  was  tossing  the  billows  high  about 
the  ship,  and  the  sk}^  was  dark  and  lead-colored. 
Phebe  would  not  leave  the  little  window,  although 
the  white  foam  dashed  against  the  small  panes  and 
the  gloom  without  was  impenetrable. 

"Come  awa}^,  child,"  commanded  one  of  the  wo- 
men, sharply,  "what  makes  you  keep  sitting  there, 
when  3'ou  can't  see  the  nose  on  your  face?" 

"I  don't  want  to  see  it,"  was  the  quick  reply; 
"  I  want  to  see  them  roll  and  tumble  over  each 
other.  He  couldn't  walk  on  it  now?"  she  queried, 
turning  to  the  mate  who  had  entered. 

"But  He  could  do  something  more  wonderful 
than  that,"  he  said,  coming  to  her  and  laying  his 
hand  on  her  head. 


AFTER  THE   vSTORIM.  47 

The  wondering  eyes  that  were  looking  into  the 
face  of  the  speaker  grew  larger  and  brighter  and 
she  said — 

"  I  don't  believe  it!" 

"The  Bible  says  so,  Phebe,  and  Willie  believes 
it.  Hark — how  the  wind  blows  and  the  waves 
roar !  but  He  could  say  to  them  all,  '  Peace,  be 
still  I '  and  they  would  mind  him." 

"Stop  blowing?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  sea  stop  rolling." 

She  looked  at  the  smiling  face  for  a  moment  and 
then  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  turned  her  eyes 
again  out  of  the  window.  The  ship  was  plunging 
madly  in  the  darkness,  and  the  occupants  in  the 
little  cabin  were  obliged  to  hold  tightly  on  to  the 
railing  around  it  to  prevent  being  dashed  together, 
but  Phebe  kept  her  seat  on  the  old  weather-beaten 
chest,  clinging  to  the  window  for  power  to  hold  her 
position,  yet  her  face  did  not  lose  its  quiet  expres- 
sion for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  little  girl,  I  see  you  are  not  afraid,"  re- 
marked the  mate,  pleasantly,  as  he  turned  to  go 
above.  "  I  didn't  know  but  the  storm  would  make 
you  think  of  your  ride  all  alone,  and  would  want 
some  of  my  help  again." 

"It  don't  rain  and  thunder  now,"  she  remarked 
quietly.  "  It  was  awful ;  the  waves  talked,  and  some- 
thing said,  '  Poor  little  Phebe  !  the  pearls  are  look- 
ing at  you,  and  will  take  you  down  in  their  beauti- 
ful home,  where  you  belong,  if  the  storm  don't 
stop ' — but  it  did,  and  I  went  to  sleep.  Where  are 
the  pearls  ?  It's  cold  down  there,  and  what  made 
them  throw  me  on  the  waves?"  Thus  Phebe 
mused  while  the  winds  died  away  and  the  waves 
were  calmed,  and   as  the   ship  settled   down  into 


48  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSED  ALE. 

quiet  on  the  dark  sea,  she  turned  to  the  frightened 
inmates  of  the  cabin  with  the  expression  :  "  Guess 
He  didr  and  getting  off  her  seat  crept  softly  to  her 
bed. 

In  the  elegant  yacht  seen  in  the  morning,  an- 
other pair  of  dark  eyes  was  gazing  through  the 
window  of  the  stateroom  into  the  rapidly  gather- 
ing storm.  Evidently  it  had  changed  its  course, 
and  instead  of  making  its  way  southward  along 
the  coast,  it  was  now  laboring  to  gain  the  open  sea. 
The  eyes  were  wild  in  their  burning  excitement, 
as  the  blackness  became  more  intense  and  the  bil- 
lows roared  as  they  dashed  against  the  brave 
craft.  There  was  no  gathering  of  the  "  precious 
gems  "  into  the  soul  of  the  stately  lady,  for  her 
memory  was  full  of  a  sad  record,  from  which  she 
could  not  shut  her  thoughts.  She  turned  almost 
fiercely  towards  the  calm  figure  reclining  on  the 
sofa  opposite,  exclaiming  :  "Lillian,  you  anger  me. 
What  are  you  l3^ing  there  for,  when  such  a  terrible 
storm  is  out  upon  the  sea  ?  Do  you  not  know  that 
we  are  not  going  towards  Alobile  at  all,,  but  are 
sailing  as  rapidl}^  as  the  winds  can  drive  us  out 
into — nobody  knows  where?" 

"  Eternity,  perhaps,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  torture  me,  child  ?" 

"  This  should  not  do  it,  mother,  for  j^our  pallid, 
pinched  face  tells  me  that  I  have  given  yoVi  no  new 
thought.  We  are  in  danger,  as  you  know,  and  many 
have  come  where  we  are  never  to  a  shore  again." 

Mrs.  Belmont  was  silent.  Her  wild  gaze  turned 
once  more  out  of  the  window,  and  the  daughter 
mused  on. 

At  last.  "  If  Pearl  only  knew,  I  could  lie  down 
under  a  friendly  billow   peacefully — yes,  gladly." 


AFTER   THE   STORM. 


49 


"  Will  you  persist,  Lillian?" 

"  He  is  my  husband  and  the  father  of  my  child." 

A  moment's  silence. 

"  How  terrible  !    That  peal  was  directly  over  us !" 

The  stately  head  dropped  upon  the  white  arm 
extended  across  the  heavy  bar  of  iron  to  which  she 
was  clinging,  while  the  shouts  and  heavy  hurried 
feet  made  a  dismal  accompaniment  to  the  confus- 
ion all  about  her. 

Lillian  spoke. 

"Mother,  with  death  in  the  air  and  on  the  sea, 
tell  me,  where  is  my  child  ?" 

"  In  heaven.  I  hope,"  and  for  once  she  spoke 
truly. 

"  If  not  there,  do  you  know  where  she  is  ? 

"She  is  there.  I  will  not  endure  your  suspic- 
ioks,  Lillian  !  Never  ask  me  concerning  your  child 
again." 

The  stately  lady  attempted  to  rise,  but  fell  back 
insensible  upon  the  chair.  When  consciousness 
was  restored  the  fury  of  the  storm  was  passed,  and 
Mrs.  Belmont,  weak  and  dispirited,  moaned  upon 
her  bed  until  the  sea-sick  passengers  landed  safely 
at  their  destination. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RECEPTION    NIGHT    AT    THE    NEW    HOME. 

Not  maii}^  miles  from  Boston  there  stands  a 
small,  white  cottage  a  few  rods  back  from  the  main 
road,  with  a  cool,  shad}^  lane  leading  to  the  lawn 
b}^  which  it  is  surrounded.  Around  this  stands 
many  wide-spreading  maples,  which  cast  their 
shadows  over  roses  and  honeysuckles  when  the 
sun  is  hottest,  while  the  summer  breezes  linger 
among  the  branches  to  fan  the  noonday  loungers, 
who,  weary  with  their  morning's  toil  in  the  field, 
seek  rest  beneath  their  shades.  In  the  rear  a  gar- 
den stretches  its  way  down  to  a  little  brook,  which 
winds  itself  hither  and  thither  through  the  tall 
meadow  grass,  singing  softly  to  the  gay  lilies 
which  hang  their  heads  over  its  banks.  The  brook 
passes  on  through  the  narrow  strip  of  pines  that 
had  carpeted  the  path  on  its  margin  with  soft 
matting  until  it  reaches  a  fair  and  picturesque  lake, 
lying  snugly  nestled  •  in  the  bright  green  basin 
the  surrounding  hills  have  made  for  it.  Trees 
stand  upon  the  water's  edge  and  dip  their  long, 
pendant  branches  playfully  into  the  blue  beneath 
them,  and  white  waxen  lilies  with  their  pure  pet- 
als deck  the  bosom  of  the  sleeping  beauty,  and 
rise  and  fall  mechanically  as  the  breezes  pass  over 
the  surface. 

50 


AT   THE    NEW    HOME.  51 

It  was  to  this  home,  surrounded  by  green  fields 
and  nature's  beauties  that  George  Evans,  the  kind- 
hearted  sailor,  brought  the  unpromising  prize 
whom  he  found  floating  upon  the  waters. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  calm  summer  evening  when 
the  two  stepped  from  the  cars  at  the  small  village 
of  Kirkham  and  began  their  pleasant  walk  of  some 
two  miles  to  their  journey's  end.  The  road  lay 
over  a  varied  country  of  hills  and  dales,  on  which 
the  setting  sun  was  throwing  an  additional  charm 
of  golden  hues,  lighting  up  the  tree  tops  and  gild- 
ing the  quiet  lake  and  brooklet  with  tints  of 
changing  glories,  crowning  the  distant  mountain 
with  a  chaplet  of  beaut}^,  as  the  retiring  king  sank 
lower  and  lower  in  his  chamber  of  purple  and 
crimson  behind  a  western  cloud.  The  sailor  was 
walking  slowly  with  bowed  head,  holding  the  little 
brown  hand  Qi\vvs protegee  tightly  in  his  own,  un- 
heeding the  departing  splendors  of  the  dying  day, 
for  his  thoughts  were  busy  and  his  face  denoted  a 
"  mind  ill  at  ease." 

"Look — look!''  exclaimed  his  little  companion, 
pulling  away  her  small  hand  from  the  weather- 
beaten  one  that  was  so  gently  leading  her. 

"  Ihat  is  'most  as  pretty  as  the  sea:  But  it  don't 
talk  to  me,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
He  did  look  as  she  requested,  but  not  where  her 
finger  pointed,  for  his  attention  suddenly  became 
riveted  upon  the  little  upturned  face  beside  him. 

"  If  they  could  only  see  her  now^^  he  thought; 
"  what  eyes !  But  it  will  be  all  gone  when  we  get 
there,  and  nothing  but  the  old  look  of  impishness 
will  remain."  A  smile  passed  over  his  bronzed 
features  as  he  continued  to  gaze  at  her  who  was 
hurrying  on  before  to  gather  some  flowers    that 


52  THE  MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

grew  by  tlie  road-side,  and  well  might  lie  be 
pardoned  for  any  remark  he  might  be  tempted  to 
make,  for  a  more  unlovely  little  image  could  not 
well  be  imagined.  Her  dress,  wdiich  had  originally 
been  of  very  fine  material,  had  lost  the-  most  of  its 
beauty  before  coming  to  her,  and  what  little  might 
have  been  left  disappeared  during  the  night  she 
lay  asleep  in  the  bottom  of  the  dirty  fishing  boat 
with  the  rain  beating  upon  her.  To  be  sure  it  had 
been  washed  and  mended  by  the  kind-hearted 
Cathreen  on  board  the  "  Bay  State,"  but  even  this 
process  had  failed  to  add  new  charms  to  it,  for 
there  were  many  more  colors  (added  by  the  several 
patches)  than  were  at  first  intended  to  be  there. 
This  outer  article  of  apparel,  with  an  apology  for 
one  other  garment,  was  the  sole  covering  of  the 
little  dumpy  figure  ;  and  her  hair,  which  was  very 
thick  and  much  longer  than  it  was  generally  per- 
mitted to  grow,  hung  in  confusion  about  her  sun- 
burnt face. 

They  had  now  ascended  a  slight  eminence  which 
overlooked  the  valley,  and  before  them  was  dis- 
tinctly visible  the  blue  lake  with  its  green  border, 
and  a  long  line  of  struggling  sunbeams  linger- 
ing upon  its  bosom,  while  to  the  right,  in  the 
midst  of  the  evening  shadows,  stood  the  neat 
white  cottage  with  its  numerous  adornings ;  still 
nearer  and  plainly  discernable  in  the  broad  light 
was  a  smooth  white  marble  slab  cold  and  chilling 
as  the  form  which  had  for  manj^  years  rested  be- 
neath it.  This  stone  so  motionless  and  still  told 
the  passer-by  that  "  Henry  Wood,"  the  former 
owner  and  proprietor  of  the  pleasant  home  and 
those  extensive  fields  had  long  ago  ceased  from  his 
labors,  and  the  soil   which  his  hands  had  so  pro- 


AT   THE    NEW    HOME.  53 

ductively  tilled  was  now  another's,  yet  they  were 
not  his  who  was  now  so  thoughtfully  looking  over 
them.  When  he^  twelve  years  ago,  stood  in  the 
place  of  the  buried  husband,  by  the  side  of  the 
widowed  wife,  the  reservation  had  been  made.  The 
farm  with  all  its  accompaniments  should  belong 
to  his  future  companion  and  her  heirs,  of  whom 
her  only  daughter  stood  first  in  the  rank  of  all 
succeeding  claimants. 

One  child  had  been  born  to  them,  a  poor 
crippled  boy  of  ten  years,  towards  whom  the 
father's  heart  always  turned  with  all  its  fullness 
of  paternal  love. 

"  Come  here,  Pliebe,"  said  the  sailor  kindly  to 
the  busy  little  girl,  who  had  her  hands  full  of  gay 
flowers  and  leaves,  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  stone 
by  the  roadside.  "  Come  here  and  see  that  house 
yonder  !  Don't  you  think  you  would  like  to  live 
there?  See  that  lake,  it  isn't  quite  as  large  as  the 
one  I  found  you  on,  but  there  is  a  boat  much  pret- 
tier, very  much,  than  the  one  you  took  your  lonely 
ride  in.  Tell  me,  don't  you  think  you  would  like 
such  a  home  as  that?"  he  continued,  seeing  she 
was  gazing  thoughtfully  on  the  scene. 

"  I'd  like  to  go  there,''''  she  answered  at  last, 
pointing  to  the  green  hills  that  surrounded  the 
lake. 

"  But  who  would  feed  and  take  care  of  you?  Be- 
sides, why  would  you  not  like  to  live  in  that  pretty 
house?  There  are  flowers  all  around  it,  and  smooth 
paths  through  the  garden  down  to  the  meadow 
brook,  and  beside  it  you  can  walk  to  the  lake  where 
the  bright  little  row-boat  is  fastened  to  the  oak 
tree.  Willie  thinks  it  is  very  nice  !  We  always 
go  there  together  when  I  am  at  home,  and  while 


rA  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

we  are  sailing  I  tell  liiin  all  about  my  voyage, 
what  I  saw  and  heard,  and  what  I  hope  he  will  see 
and  hear  some  da3\" 

"  Won't  the\^  make  me  scour  knives  and  wash 
potatoes?"  asked  the  child,  eagerly.  "I  don't  like 
to  do  it,  and  I  ecj//'//''  she  exclaimed  emphatically. 
"  Mother  used  to  whip  me  because  I  wouldn't  do  it ; 
but  I  would  run  away  down  to  the  shore  and  talk 
to  the  waves.  Do  the  waves  talk  over  there  ?"  she 
said,  pointing  to  the  lake,  around  which  the  nightly 
shadows  were  densely  gathering. 

"  If  tlie}^  do,  the}'  will  tell  3'ou  it  is  z'cv^j' naughty 
not  to  do  what  those  who  are  so  kind  ask  you  to 
do.  IMothers  have  to  do  many  things  that  are  not 
pleasant,  and  every  mother's  girl  ought  to  try  to 
please  her.  Don't  you  think  so?"  Phebe  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  and  drawing  her  hand  across  her 
forehead,  replied  cpiickly — 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  to  scour  knives,  and  I  hain't 
got  no  mother." 

"But  I  want  Willie's  mother  to  be  3'ours,  and  I 
think  she  will  be  very  kind  to  3'ou,  if  3'OU  are  good 
and  try  to  please  her." 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  and  he  was  silent 
for  a  long  time.  When  he  once  more  aroused  him- 
self to  actual  life  it  had  grown  quite  dark  and  the 
child  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  called,  but  she 
did  not  answer.  Hurrying  down  the  hill  he  called 
again  ;  but  the  echoes  were  his  only  reply.  For  a 
moment  a  sense  of  relief  came  over  him.  He  had 
pondered  much  how  he  should  introduce  his  little 
charge  to  the  famil}^  circle  in  her  most  attractive 
light,  in  order  to  avoid  opposition  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. But  she  was  gone,  and  he  could  now  go  to 
his  home  with  the  expectation  of  a  joyful  greeting 


AT    THE    NEW    HOME.  55 

from  all,  unless  it  be  save  one.  Then  his  great 
heart  spoke. 

No,  he  could  not  leave  her  to  wander  off  alone 
to  perish  ;  he  mzis/^nd  her.  Besides,  Willie  needed 
a  companion.  Poor  lonely  boy,  he  was  denied  the 
sports  of  other  children,  and  was  left  alone  with 
his  thoughts  and  books  so  much  that  he  was  grow- 
ing morbid  and  silent.  This  was  pitiful  in  one  so 
young,  and  it  may  be  that  he  needed  just  such  a 
play-fellow  as  this  to  draw  him  away  from  himself; 
and  he  would  find  her. 

Hurrying  on  he  did  not  stop  until  he  had  reached 
his  own  door,  and  to  his  great  surprise  he  beheld 
Phebe  in  the  little  sitting  room  surrounded  by  the 
family  circle,  who  seemed  to  be  enjoying  their 
strange  guest  to  the  utmost.  He  stepped  quickly 
back  into  the  deeper  shadows  and  listened.  They 
were  evidently  trying  to  find  out  something  of  her 
history,  for  Willie  asked : 

"  But  where  did  you  come  from  ?     You  can  tell 

us  //2^/." 

"  I  came  from  way  down  in  the  ocean,  where  the 
pearls  grow,  that  is  what  my  beautiful  mother 
called  me  Lily-Pearl  for." 

A  hearty  laugh  succeeded  this  answer,  while 
Fanny  remarked,  ironically  : 

"  I  should  imagine  she  had  sprung  out  of  some 
dark  cavern  ;  but  there  is  not  much  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  pearl  family  about  her." 

"  What  made  you  come  here?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Evans,  kindly  ;   ''  did  any  one  send  you  ?" 

"  I  thought  I'd  just  come  and  see  if  you'd  make 
me  scour  knives  and  wash  potatoes  ;  'cause,  if  you 
would,  I  don't  want  to  live  here.  I  don't  like  to 
do  it.  and  I  won'tP^ 


56        THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

"  What  a  strange  child,"  remarked  Willie.  '1 
wish  I  could  keep  her ;  I  should  like  her  so  much," 

"  Like  me  ?  Does  tJiat  mean  loi'e  ?  Would  you 
kiss  me  and  say,  '  Good-bye,  dear,'  as  Lutie  Grant's 
mother  does  ?  j\Iaria  kissed  me  once,  but  that  was 
nothing,"  and  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  an 
impatient  gesture  of  contempt. 

"  Kiss  her,"  exclaimed  Fanny  ;  "  I  would  as  soon 
kiss  one  of  our  pigs/' 

]\lr.  Evans  from  the  shadow  saw  the  flash  in  the 
large  dark  eyes,  as  they  turned  upon  the  speaker, 
and  thought  it  time  to  make  his  appearance  known. 
As  he  entered  the  door  Phebe  ran  to  him  with  out- 
stretched arms,  and  exclamations  of  pleasure,  while 
the  eager  hands  of  the  little  lame  bo3Mvere  reached 
out  towards  him,  and  soon  clasped  in  the  strong, 
loving  embrace  of  the  happ}^  father.  The  Avife 
came  forward  for  her  share  of  joyful  greetings,  but 
the  daughter  kept  her  seat  by  the  table  where  she 
was  sewing,  extending  her  hand  onl}^  as  the  father 
approached,  but  he  bowed  his  head  and  kissed  her 
brow  with  a  fondness  that  was  not  returned. 

"  Well,  Phebe,  what  made  3^ou  run  awa}^  from 
me  ?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the  little  girl  who  was 
still  clinging  to  him,  and  laying  his  hand  tenderly 
on  her  bushy  head.  "  You  wanted  to  introduce 
yourself,  did  you  ?  Didn't  you  know  I  was  very 
much  frightened  ?  I  thought,  perhaps  you  had 
run  away  to  the  woods  where  you  seemed  so  anx- 
ious to  go  and  live." 

"  And  where  3'ou  picked  her  up,  I  should  imag 
ine,"  remarked  Fanu}'-,  without  raising  her  e3^es 
from  her  work. 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  is  it,  Phebe  ?  But 
we  will  talk  about  that  b}^  and  by,"     And  unfold- 


AT   THE    NEW    HOME.  57 

ing  a  large  bundle  which  he  had  brought  with  him 
he  handed  Willie  some  books  which  made  his  blue 
eyes  sparkle  ;  then  a  parcel  to  his  wife  and  another 
to  the  daughter,  while  a  third  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Here  are  some  dresses  for  Phebe,  which  I  think 
will  serve  to  win  for  herself  a  trifle  more  affection 
than  she  can  expect  to  get  in  her  present  outfit,  he 
said  with  a  smile. 

Unfolding  some  bright  calicoes,  he  called  the 
little  girl  to  him. 

"  Won't  you  look  pretty  when  you  have  these 
new  dresses  on  ?"  he  asked  kindly. 

"  Lutie  Grant  never  wore  prettier  clothes  than 
these  will  be  !" 

This  had  the  desired  effect.  How  her  eyes  spar- 
kled and  danced  with  the  anticipation. 

"  Why,  isn't  she  handsome,  father?  Where  did 
you  find  her  ?'' 

He  gave  a  communicating  look  to  his  son  and 
said ; 

"  Tell  Willie  where  I  found  you,  will  you  ?" 

"  'Way  out  on  the  ocean,"  she  said,  evasively. 

"  What  were  you  doing  there  ?"  Willie  again 
asked. 

"  I  wanted  to  go  out  on  the  waves  and  hear  what 
they  said.  I  couldn't  tell  what  they  said  when  I 
was  on  the  rocks." 

"  You  said  you  came  from  way  down  m  the  sea 
where  the  pearls  grew." 

"  And  so  I  did,  but  not  now.  A  beautiful  lady 
picked  me  up.  ^\W.  you  call  me  Lily-Pearl  ?"  she 
asked,  coming  close  to  Willie  and  taking  his  soft, 
white  hand  in  hers.     "  I'll  be  good,  then." 

"  And  do  what  Willie's  mother  asks  you  to  do  ?" 
interrupted  Mr.  Evans  ;  but  there  was  no  answer. 


58  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Let  me  call  you  Lily  Evans;  that's  m}^  name, 
you  know,  and  if  3'ou  are  to  be  \\\y  sister,  Ave  must 
love  each  other,  and  I  shall  want  to  have  you  like 
my  name,  too.  Shall  I  ?"  Phebe  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  the  old  unpleasant  look  came  back 
to  her  face. 

"  Then  3'ou  don't  want  me  for  your  brother?  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  love  me,  and  we  would 
be  happy  together." 

Phebe  stole  more  closely  to  his  side,  and  look- 
ing up  into  the  pale  face  whispered,  timidl}^,  "  Will 
you  kiss  me,  Willie  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  and  love  yon,  too — I  know  I 
shall !"  and  the  boy  kissed  heartily  the  little  up- 
turned face  just  as  Fanny's  sneering  laugh  reached 
her.  The  flash  of  indignation  darted  to  her  dark 
eyes,  which  her  kind  protector  had  seen  there  more 
than  once,  and  well  did  he  understand  the  foe  that 
was  lurking  beneath. 

"I  think  little  Phebe  must  be  tired;  can  you 
find  a  place  for  her  to  sleep,  mother  ?"  he  asked 
soothingly,  at  the  same  time  drawing  her  towards 
him.  "  Good  night,  ni}^  little  girl  ;  I  hope  you  will 
have  pleasant  dreams,  and  to-morrow  we  will  talk 
about  the  new  dresses."  He  kissed  her  fondly  as 
he  sj)oke,  and  the  face  beamed  with  joy  as  she  left 
the  room. 

There  was  a  long  family  consultation  that  night 
after  the  child  nad  been  shown  to  her  bed,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  whole  life  made  to  repeat  the 
simple  praj^er :  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 
which  she  did  reluctantly,  and  with  many  shrugs. 
But  the  quiet,  earnest  voice  of  Mrs.  Evans  sub- 
dued her,  and  she  at  last  submitted  with  a  ver}^ 
good  grace.     It  was  finally  decided  before  the  fam- 


AT   THE    NEW    HOME.  59 

ily  separated  for  the  night,  that  the  new-comer 
should  for  a  time,  at  least,  become  an  inmate  of  the 
home  circle,  and  through  Willie's  solicitations  she 
should  be  considered  his  exclusive  property.  He 
would  be  her  teacher,  guiding  all  her  studies,  fill- 
ing her  little  untutored  mind  with  the  knowledge 
he  had  gained,  as  well  as  endeavoring  to  correct 
her  faults  ;  while  she  in  return  would  be  his  com- 
panion, drawing  him  in  his  carriage  and  amusing 
him  generally.  It  was  with  a  light  heart  that  the 
poor  lame  boy  lay  down  to  sleep  that  night. 
Bright  visions  of  coming  happiness  flitted  through 
his  mind,  and  succeeded  in  driving  away  his 
usually  quiet  slumbers. 

The  next  morning  he  arose  early  and  soon  after 
"  Lily,"  as  he  persisted  at  the  time  in  calling  her, 
notwithstanding  Fanny's  sarcastic  protestations, 
appeared  in  a  neat  chintz  frock  and  pink  apron 
which  had  not  been  taken  out  from  their  hiding 
place  since  the  baby  boy  had  grown  too  large  for 
their  use.  Her  hair  was  smoothly  parted  back 
from  the  forehead  and  her  face  was  beaming  and 
animated.  She  bounded  quickly  to  Willie's  side 
as  she  entered  the  room  where  breakfast  was  wait- 
ing, and  inquired  eagerly:  "  Do  I  look  pretty?" 
"To  be  sure  you  do  ;  just  as  pretty  as  any  other 
girl !" 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  she  leaned  over 
to  whisper  as  she  was  being  lifted  to  her  seat  by 
the  side  of  her  future  companion;  "  I  love^'<?/^,  but 
I  hate  Fanny!"  "  You  must  not  hate  any  one," 
replied  Willie.  "  Fanny  is  my  sister  and  you  are 
going  to  be,  so  we  must  all  love  each  other."  "  I 
can't,"  and  the  little  dumpy  figure  raised  itself  to 
its  fullest  dimensions  as  she  looked  into  the  face 


60 


THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 


of  Fanuy,  who  was  coming  into  the  room  with  the 
coffee.  "I  luoji't  love  Jier^  but  I  love  yoii^^  and 
she  clasped  the  little  white  hand  fervently  in  her 
own. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DEATH  IN  THE  LITTLE  COTTAGE. 

Pliebe  was  not  mistaken  in  lier  heart's  emotions, 
as  the  years  proved.  She  did  love  Willie  with  all 
of  the  ardor  of  her  young  affections.  His  wish 
was  her  law ;  his  reproofs  her  severest  chastise- 
ments. But  the  stern,  cold  Fanny  found  no  place 
in  her  love.  She  trembled  under  her  frowns  and 
anger  only  to  hasten  from  them  that  she  might 
hide  the  bitterness  which  her  secret  tears  could 
alone  soothe.  There  was  no  need  of  all  this. 
Fanny  did  not  hate  the  child;  no,  not  even  dislike 
her  ;  but  there  was  no  summer  within  her  soul — 
no  glad  sunshine  in  her  obdurate  heart.  Yet  be- 
neath the  icy  covering  the  world  saw,  which 
chilled  and  frosted  the  tendrils  of  love  her  woman's 
nature  possessed,  there  was  a  clear  silvery  fountain 
of  emotion,  which  would  have  driven  away  many 
a  dark  hour,  with  the  merry  music  of  its  gushing 
waters,  had  not  a  thick  cloud  of  selfishness  shut  it 
in,  and  the  frosts  of  discontent  sealed  it  from  hu- 
man vision.  But  God  saw  it  all,  and  looked  pity- 
ingly into  the  perverted  heart  where  its  rich  treas- 
ures lay  hidden.  "  The  child  is  very  well,"  she 
would  say,  "  as  good  as  children  usually  are,  I  sup- 
pose, but  of  no  use.  She  does  not  pay  for  the  salt 
she  eats." 

61 


62  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you/'  replied  the  mother. 
"  See  how  much  happier  your  brother  is  since  he 
has  a  companion  to  talk  to  and  confide  in.  /  was 
too  old  to  understand  his  little  wants,  or  even  to 
sympathize  with  his  poor  heart's  sorrows.  I  feel 
it  all  now.  This  is  the  lesson  I  have  learned  since 
Phebe  has  been  with  with  us.  We  were  too  selfish, 
Fanny — your  mother  and  j'ourself.  It  may  be  I 
was  at  fault  in  not  tilling  and  uprooting  the  evils 
in  your  young  heart  when  it  was  in  ni}-  power  to  do 
so,  my  daughter,  and  I  am  willing  to  confess  it  to 
you  now.  There  should  be  more  flowers  growing 
in  the  garden  of  our  souls,  and  less  hard}-,  sturd}- 
shrubs  that  yield  no  fragrance  and  woo  no  summer 
birds  to  come  and  make  music  for  us.  Life  has 
changed  its  aspects  for  me  within  a  few  short 
months.  It  seems  all  spread  out  where  I  can  look 
back  upon  it;  not  sparkling  and  glowing  with  good 
works  and  love  and  gentleness,  as  it  should  be  ; 
but  there  are  dark  places — cold,  chill  damps  that 
creep  over  me  at  times  when  I  scan  the  crooked 
paths  over  which  I  have  led  3'ou,  while  one  so 
smooth  and  flower}^,  so  full  of  pleasant  places 
and  radiant  with  beauty,  is  plainly  discernable 
close  beside  it,  into  which  our  feet  should  have 
turned.  God  forgive  me !"  she  murmured,  while 
a  tear  glistened  for  one  mom.ent  in  her  clear  blue 
eyes.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  do  you  a  wrong ;  I  was 
worldly  and  ambitious  for  your  temporal  good,  but 
blinded  to  your  siDiritual  prosperity.  God  forgive 
me !" 

"  I  cannot  see  where  you  nave  committed  any 
such  a  great  sin,"  replied  the  daughter  with  much 
feeling.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  intended  to 
to  do  your  duty,  and  must  say  my  opinion  is  that 


DEATH    IN   THE   LITTLE   COTTAGE.  63 

yoti  succeeded  well.  We  had  to  toil  hard  to  gain 
our  present  ease  and  comfort,  but  no  one  can  accuse 
us  of  either  crime  or  dishonesty,  Mother.  I  did 
not  speak  of  the  child  because  I  did  not  want  her 
here.  I  only  think  she  might  make  herself  more 
useful.  I  am  willing  she  should  read  when  Willie 
wants  her  to,  but  she  would  never  do  anything  else 
if  she  could  help  it." 

The  door  was  suddenly  opened  and  Phebe  came 
rushing  in,  with  a  light  bouyant  step,  her  cheeks 
glowing  with  exercise  and  her  dark  eyes  sparkling 
with  joy  and  animation. 

"  O  Mother  !  Father  is  in  Boston,  but  will  not  be 
home  for  two  or  three  days.  You  can  never  guess 
what  he  has  for  Willie,"  and  the  happy  child 
danced  about  the  floor  in  the  exuberance  of  her 
glee. 

"  What  business  have  you  to  open  our  letters  ?" 
inquired  Fanny,  beneath  the  dark  cloud  that  had 
gathered  during  the  short  recital. 

The  mirth  of  the  little  girl  suddenly  ceased  as 
she  looked  at  her  interrogator  for  a  moment,  but 
made  no  reply.  Willie,  however,  appeared  in  the 
door  and  answered  for  her. 

"  The  letter  was  written  to  its,  wasn't  it,  Phebe  ?" 

"  It  was  written  to  you;  and  Father  is  going  to 
bring  him  a  large  dog  all  trained  to  draw  him.  O 
Willie,  was  there  ever  anything  so  nice!"  Her 
quick  anger  was  gone,  and  the  brightness  of  the 
joyous  anticipations  of  the  so7ne thing  that  was  to 
bring  so  much  to  one  she  so  dearly  loved  daguer- 
reotyped  itself  on  her  expressive  features.  Willie 
saw  it  all,  and  when  he  had  seated  himself  by  the 
side  of  his  mother  on  the  lounge  he  beckoned 
Phebe  to  him. 


64  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  You  are  sorry  about  sometliiug,  my  iittle  sis- 
ter," he  said  ;   "  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  No,  no;  I  am  not  sorry.  I  was  only  thinking. 
You  will  not  want  little  Phebe  when  Rover  comes. 
And — and  I  do  like  to  draw  you  so  much!"  and 
her  lips  quivered  as  she  strove  to  keep  back  the 
tears. 

"  Wh}",  my  pretty  sister,  your  eyes  were  so 
bright  when  I  first  told  you,  and  I  thought  that 
my  new  possessions  were  going  to  make  j'07/  as 
happy  as  myself;  and  onl}'  a  moment  ago  3X)U  ex- 
claimed. '  was  there  ever  anything  so  7u'ff  !'  Can 
you  not  think  so  now  ?  It  is  true  I  shall  not  need 
you  for  my  horse,"  he  continued,  laughing.  "  But 
just  think  how  dreary  it  will  be  to  ride  alone,  with 
no  one  to  speak  to  or  enjoy  the  sunshine  and  cool 
breezes  with  me,  or  gather  the  prett}-  flowers  along 
the  road,  or  the  lilies  from  off  the  lake  !  No,  no, 
Phebe  ;  I  cannot  go  alone,  and  Father  maj-  take  the 
dog  back,  if  you  will  not  go  with  me.  Or  per- 
haps you  imagine  that  Rover  can  talk,  as  well  as 
do  many  other  remarkably  things.  Besides  you 
must  have  forgotten  that  Father  wrote  that  the 
wagon  is  large  enough  for  two  such  '  chicks  '  as  we 
are.  So  do  not  feel  badly  ;  you  are  to  go  with  me, 
and  Rover  is  to  draw  us  both." 

Mrs.  Evans  clasped  them  in  her  arms  and  drew 
them  tenderly  to  her. 

"  My  dear  children,  will  you  always  love  each 
other  as  you  do  now  ?  Will  you  always  be  his  sis- 
ter Phebe,  and  never  take  away  the  affection  thai 
makes  him  so  happy  ?  I  shall  not  always  be  with 
with  you,  my  children  ;  but  before  I  leave  3^ou, 
promise  me,  Phebe,  that  you  Avill  never  forsake 
him,  and  I  will  trust  you,  young  as  you  are.    The 


DEATH    IN    THE    LITTLE   COTTAGE.  05 

time  will  come  when  both  of  you  will  pass  beyond 
these  years  of  childhood,  and  great  changes  may 
come  to  yon  ;  there  will  be  separations,  and  other 
homes  where  it  may  be  you  will  live  apart.  But, 
Phebe,  he  is  3^onr  brother  ;  remember  /  have  g^iven 
him  to  you.  It  is  a  sacred  trust,  but  3^ou  under- 
stand it.  Will  it  be  kept  safe  and  firm  when  he 
has  no  mother  to  lean  upon,  and  no  hand  but  3''ours 
to  attend  to  his  wants  ?  Phebe,  I  love  you,  and 
thank  God  every  clay  that  he  sent  the  lonely 
'  mariner '  to  our  home,  and  for  the  sake  of  that 
love  will  you  be  true  to  my  dear  boy?" 

"  I  could  never  live  without  Willie,"  and  she 
threw  her  arms  passionatel}^  around  the  peck  of 
the  crippled  boy.  ''  I  will  never  leave  him 
Mother ;  he  couldn't  do  without  me^  could  you 
Willie?"  The  boy  drew  her  more  closely  to  him 
but  could  not  speak,  for  his  heart  was  full  of  his 
mother's  sad  words.  He  had  noticed  that  her 
cheek  had  paled  with  the  fading  of  the  summer 
flowers  ;  that  her  step  had  grown  more  feeble  and 
her  kiss  more  tender  as  she  smoothed  his  pillow 
at  night  and  whispered  "  God  will  take  care  of  you 
my  dear,  dear  boy."  And  now  as  he  looked  into 
the  pale  face  and  saw  the  tear-drops  glisten  on  her 
drooping  lashes  a  fearful  foreboding  stole  over 
him,  and  placing  an  arm  about  her  neck  he  sobbed: 

"  Mother,  do  not  talk  of  leaving  me !  What 
could  your  helpl-ess  boy  do  without  you?  I  must 
always  creep  about  in  the  dust  for  the  thoughtless 
and  cruel  to  point  at,  and  there  is  nothing  in  the 
future  to  hope  for  or  look  forward  to.  O  Mother ! 
It  is  dreadful  to  be  a  cripple  with  no  prospect  of 
being  any  body  or  doing  any  good  to  others ;  only 
a  poor,  helpless  boy  for  every  passer-by  to  pityP'' 


GG  THE    ^IISTRESS   OF    ROSKDALE. 

"  Please  do  not  Willie ;  it  iM'eaks  my  heart ! 
Remember  what  God  has  said,  'the  Lord  thy  God 
is  a  merciful  God,  He  will  not  forsake  thee,  neither 
destroy  thee,  nor  forget  the  covenant  of  thy 
fathers  which  he  sware  nnto  them.'  I  have  many 
times  laid  3'ou,  all  helpless  as  you  are,  as  a  cheer- 
ful testimony  of  my  poor  trembling  faith  at  His 
feet,  and  somehow,  Willie,  I  have  felt  that  he  has 
accepted  my  precious  gift,  and  that  my  boy  will  be 
ever  under  his  especial  care  and  love.  Look  up, 
there  is  sunshine  on  the  other  side  of  the  clouds, 
and  its  bright  beams  willgild  your  darkness  if  3^ou 
will  permit  them  to  do  so,"  The  slumbering 
fountain  of  the  daughter's  love  was  stirred  at  the 
sight  before  her  and  bowing  her  head  she  wept ! 

"  Mother,"  she  said  at  last  with  much  emotion  ; 
"  have  3'ou  forgotten  that  /  am  his  sister?  Can 
you  not  leave  him  to  wj'  care?  I  will  never  for- 
sake him,  and  all  that  I  can  do  to  make  his  life 
pleasanter  /  will  gladl}^  do !  Did  3'ou  forget  me 
Mother?" 

"  Forget  3'ou  Fanny?  You  were  ni}^  first  born — 
my  a/l  for  many  ^^ears  !  Together  we  have  worked 
and  talked,  but,  ni}^  daughter,  you  are  older  and 
sterner  bj^  nature  than  my  poor  helpless  one.  He 
wants  companionship,  sympathy  in  his  little  trials 
that  must  ever  be  peculiar  to  himself,  and  no  one 
can  do  this  as  well  as  one  Avho  has  suffered  and 
been  lonely  as  he  will  always  be.  No  Fanny,  j'c?w 
will  of  course  be  kind  to  him  and  your  reward  will 
be  sure." 

Phebe  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  new  home  for 
more  than  three  years.  Happy  years  they  had 
been,  notwithstanding  the  many  trials  she  had 
been   obliged    to   encounter.       Her   foster-parents 


DI^ATH   IN   THE   LITTLE   COTTAGE.  07 

were  always  kind,  and  it  was  there  her  heart  had 
first  learned  the  luxury  of  loving  and  being  loved. 
How  true  had  been  the  promise  to  her  "when  thy 
father  and  th}^  mother  forsake  thee  then  the  Lord 
will  take  thee  up!"  He  had  taken  her  and  she 
was  being  fitted  by  his  providences  for  the  life  that 
was  before  her.  A  dark  shadow  was  creeping  over 
her  path  with  its  sombre  forebodings,  and  young 
as  she  was  her  soul  was  chilled  by  it.  She  had 
not  noticed  it  before,  and  it  was  hard  to  realize 
even  now  that  it  was  so  distinctly  brought  before 
her.  Of  one  thing,  however,  she  was  sure.  Willie 
was  suffering  and  her  little  heart  poured  itself  out 
in  words  of  tenderness  and  sympath3^ 

It  was  a  happ3^  day  when  Mr.  Evans  returned 
from  his  long  voyage  and  introduced  Rover  to  his 
new  master.  The  shadows  which  had  been  lin- 
gering over  the  home  circle  for  two  long  days 
suddenly  vanished.  Then  came  the  long  rides, 
for  as  the  father  had  said,  "  the  wagon  was  ample 
for  the  two,"  and  Rover  was  able  and  willing. 

But  in  the  pleasant  sitting-room  that  looked 
oiit  upon  the  fading  lawn  where  the  leaves  were 
falling  from  the  crimson  maples  there  were  sad 
talks  about  a  coming  separation,  and  faint,  wistful 
looks  into  the  far-off  future.  There  were  smiles 
and  caresses  that  fell  into  "  life's  eventide  "  like 
sunbeams  darting  through  the  western  clouds  as 
night  approaches.  The  wife  and  mother  knew 
that  her  days  were  numbered,  and  when  the  win- 
ter storms  came  and  mantled  the  hillside  and 
spread  a  pall  over  the  lonel}^  grave  beyond  the 
garden  where  the  cold  marble  stood,  and  the 
winds  mingled  their  sighs  with  the  sobs  and  moans 
of  bereaved  ones,  the  chamber  of  the  slumbering 


()8  THE    IVITSTRE.SS    OF    ROSED  ALE. 

one  was  entered  and  the  loving-  motlier  slept  in  a 
dreamless  sleep. 

A  pall  of  gloom  settled  down  on  the  inmates  of 
this  once  cheerfnl  home!  The  cord  that  had  so 
long  bound  them  all  together  was  broken.  What 
would  the  future  present  to  each?  Where  the 
wisdom  to  choose  ;  the  firmness  and  strength  to 
battle  and  maintain? 

The  winds  moaned  and  the  snow  came  and 
went;  the  "frost-king"  fettered  and  unloosed; 
then  the  spring  appeared  and  with  it  changes  not 
only  in  the  outward  world  but  into  the  little  circle 
of  murmuring  ones.  The  father  must  go  to  sea ; 
a  summer  voyage  was  before  him.  It  was  harder 
now  than  ever  to  leave  his  almost  helpless  boy 
without  a  mother's  love  to  comfort  and  cheer  him  ; 
but  it  must  be  done ! 

"  I  will  take  as  good  care  of  him  as  I  can,'^ 
Fanny  remarked  one  evening  as  the  father's  solici- 
tude broke  out  into  words. 

''  To  be  sure  I  shall  have  a  great  deal  more  to 
attend  to  now,  but  I  suppose  Phebe  can  help  me 
more  than  she  has  done.  She  is  a  great  stout 
girl  and  might  make  herself  useful  if  she  had  a 
mind  to  do  so.  She  ought  to  be  made  to  under- 
stand that  she  is  dependent  and  should  do  some- 
thing to  earn  her  own  living!  I  cannot  afford  to 
keep  her  for  nothing!" 

"  This  home  is  yours,  I  am  fulh'  aware,  Fann}^" 
replied  Mr.  Evans  with  some  warmth  ;  "  and  if  you 
wish  it  I  will  take  my  children  out  of  it  and  find 
them  another."  Fanu}^  burst  into  tears  and  arose 
to  leave  the  room. 


DEATH   IN   THE   LITTLE   COTTAGE.  69 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  be  a  sister  to  both  of  them," 
she  stopped  to  say  in  a  snbdned  tone,  and  the 
father  was  alone. 

"  I  must  believe  her,"  he  thought  at  last ;  "  she 
cannot  be  cruel  to  her  poor  brother  at  least !"  So 
in  a  few  days,  before  the  early  flowers  decked  the 
garden  walks,  the  father  and  protector  was  away 
upon  the  waves,  and  the  home  was  once  more 
desolate  ! 

Ah,  there  are  sad  times  in  life  when  even  hope 
seems  arrayed  in  the  sombre  habiliments  of  mourn- 
ing. The  future  grows  darker  and  darker  as  we 
gaze  upon  it ;  there  is  no  light  because  we  are 
powerless  to  penetrate  the  clouds  that  are  hanging 
over  us.  Who  shall  lead  us  out?  Timid  and 
shrinking  we  stretch  our  trembling  hands  out 
into  the  gloom  when  to  the  surprise  of  the  faint- 
ing heart  we  feel  the  gentle  grasp  of  love,  while 
the  way  brightens  and  the  faltering  feet  gain  a 
firmer  tread  as  they  step  forward  where  the  shadows 
are  broken  and  the  rugged  road  appears  in  full 
view. 

If  Phebe  had  been  a  strange  child  when  she 
entered  the  cottage,  the  intimate  companionship  of 
the  thoughtful  studious  cripple  had  not  made  her 
less  so.  The  events  of  each  passing  day  had  im- 
parted their  impress  upon  her  susceptible  nature. 
Her  mind  had  been  an  open  chalice  into  which  her 
foster-brother  had  poured  the  hoarded  wealth  of 
his  own ;  and  she  was  learned  beyond  her  years. 
The  little  "dumpy  figure"  was  now  tall  and  well- 
proportioned  for  her  age,  and  Willie  looked  upon 
her  with  pride  and  admiration.  More  than  this, 
her  heart  with  its  far-reaching  mysteries  had  been 
guided  close  to  the  cross  and  around  it  the  tendrils 


70 


THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 


of  its  unsolved  loiii^iiigs  twined  themselves.  Her 
dreams  of  the  unreal  were  no  less,  but  her  realiza- 
tions of  the  sterner  demands  of  life  were  more. 
Willie  had  early  learned  to  tell  the  pitying  Re- 
deemer his  tales  of  sorrow  and  deprivations,  and 
where  he  found  comfort  and  sympathy  the  restless 
Phebe  had  been  led.  How  kind  in  the  potter  to 
prepare  the  clay  for  his  grand  purposes  of  use,  al- 
though sometimes  with  a  rough  as  well  as  masterly 
hand !  And  how  can  its  powers  be  manifested 
without  the  "  fashioning  process"  or  its  durability 
secured  in  the  absence  of  the  ''mouldings"  and 
the  fire?  The  nuister  understood  his  work  and 
Phebe  lay  passively  in  his  hands. 

Down  by  the  lake  where  the  wild  honeysuckle 
yielded  up  its  luscious  fruits  to  the  children  when 
the  blosssoms  had  disappeared,  was  a  little  arbor 
where  tender  fingers  had  woven  the  slender 
branches  of  the  whispering  pines  together,  and  in 
this  sweet  bower  Willie  and  his  companion  sat 
every  day  when  the  snow  and  frosts  were  gone 
and  talked  of  the  absent  mother,  wishing  that  the 
gentle  spirit  might  be  ever  near  to  check  the  tur- 
bulent winds  and  smooth  down  the  angry  waves. 


CHAPTER  VL 

"  CRAZY  DIMIS''  AND  THE  TWILIGHT  SCENE. 

'  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Phebe  ?  I  have 
watched  you  ever  since  we  turned  the  corner  down 
by  the  big  pine  tree,  and  not  a  muscle  of  your  face 
has  moved,  as  far  as  I  can  discover.  Tell  Willie, 
won't  you  ?" 

Phebe,  thus  addressed,  drew  herself  up  with  a 
long  sigh,  and  passing  her  hand  mechanically 
across  her  forehead,  replied,  while  her  eyes  re- 
mained seemingly  fixed  on  some  far-off  object : 

"  I  do  not  know.  See  how  the  sunshine  falls  in 
golden  patches  on  the  pond  yonder,  like  what  you 
read  about  this  morning.  Willie,  I  doii't  want  to 
be  PJiehe — nothing  but  little  Phebe.  I — I  want  to 
fly!  See  that  bird  going  up,  up.  He  will  get 
away  beyond  the  clouds — far  above  the  top  of  the 
mountain  yonder,  /want  to  be  like  him,  or  some- 
thing, I  do  not  know  what ;  don't  you,  Willie  ?" 

"  Yes ;  though  ambitions  are  not  for  one  like 
me ;  but  you  will  be  something  besides  '  little 
Phebe,'  by  and  by.  I  see  it  in  your  beaming  face 
and  deep  dark  eyes  ;  while  I  must  always  be  '  poor 
little  Willie,'  nothing  else.  I  have  for  a  long  time 
been  watching  you,  and  reading  my  destiny  of 
loneliness  and  utter  dreariness  in  your  strange, 
mysterious  words,  and  knew  that  they  all  came 
from  a  heart  that  would  never  be  satisfied  with  the 

71 


72  THE    MISTRESvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

plodding  life  where  /  must  remain.  Two  paths 
are  open  to  ns,  and  I  ean  even  now  see  that  they 
must  branch  off  from  each  other.  O  Pliebe,  hard 
as  it  is  to  be  as  I  am,  I  would  not  hold  you,  little 
bird,  from  j^our  upward  flight ;  but  just  think  what 
a  terrible  night  my  future  will  be  without  my  little 
Phebe  !  Then  I  shall  have  no  sweet  sister  to  com- 
fort and  cheer  me  wlien  out  of  patience  with  ni}-- 
self  and  cross  because  of  my  infirmit}-.  And  I  shall 
not  be  your  own  Willie  as  now.  It  is  wrong,  I 
know,  to  feel  so,  but  I  cannot  help  it  !  It  is  bitter 
enough  to  know  that  I  must  lose  you,  but  your 
love,  little  sister,  how  can  I  live  withoutlhat  ?" 

Phebe  was  taking  a  seat  beside  him,  where  he 
had  made  room  for  her  while  speaking.  And, 
without  answering  his  moan  of  anguish,  she  clasped 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  his  pale  face 
over  and  over  again. 

"  Love  3^ou  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "I  shall  alwa3-s 
love  you.  I  d(j  not  believe  at  all  in  those  paths 
you  have  been  telling  about=  What  would  I  want 
to  go  off  in  another  for  if  j^ou  could  not  follow  me  ? 
No,  no,  Willie,  I  would  not  fly  awa}'  up  into  the 
clouds  without  3'ou  ;  or  be  something  that  I  so  long 
to  be,  for  I  akva3'5  want  to  be  your  little  Pliebe — 
nothing  else.  I  was  onlj'  thinking  while  I  sat  here 
and  saw  Rover  draw  you  out  of  sight,  how  / 
wanted  to  go  off  somewhere  !  and  then  I  thought  of 
the  ivavcs — how  they  used  to  talk  to  me — and  just 
then,  Willie,  the  patches  fell  down  on  the  water, 
and  a  strange  feeling  came  over  me  ;  but  it  is  gone 
now,  and  I  want  to  stay  with  3'ou.  Did  not  mother 
give  yon  to  me  and  say  that  I  must  never  leave 
you  ?  You  are  my  own  Willie,  just  as  you  always 
will  be."     And   with   o4ie   more   kiss  she  took  the 


CRAZV     DIMIS.  To 

reins  from   his  hand  and  gave  the  order  for  Rover 
to  proceed. 

''  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  came  to  them  from  the  thicket 
near  where  they  had  been  sitting,  and  at  the  same 
time  two  large,  wild  eyes  peered  through  the  open- 
ing a  pair  of  thin  bony  hands  had  made  in  the 
thick  foliage. 

"  It  is  crazy  Dimis  ;  don't  be  afraid,"  said  Willie, 
as  his  companion  gave  a  startled  look ;  "  she  has 
been  at  our  house  many  times  when  I  was  a  little 
boy,  and  she  will  not  hurt  any  one.  She  has  es- 
caped from  her  imprisonment  as  she  used  often  to 
do,  but  they  know  she  is  harmless." 

The  figure  of  a  woman,  tall  and  straight,  but 
very  plainly  clad,  now  stood  before  them. 

"  It  is  wonderful  sweet  to  love,  isn't  it  silly  chil- 
dren ?  Kisses  are  like  honey — -good  on  the  lips  ; 
but  they  kill  sometimes.  Ha  !  ha!  Waste  them  ! 
throw  them  away,  silly  children.  They'll  be  bit- 
ter by  and  by.  It's  coming — coming  !  Don't  I 
know  it  ?  Kisses  are  like  candy,  musnt't  eat  too 
much,  little  fools !  Beware !  the  roses  will  fade 
and  the  thorns  are  sharp!  They'll  prick  you  1 
Don't  I  know  ?  Flowers  are  not  for  everybody — 
plant  cabbage !  Ha !  ha  !  Crazy,  am  I  ?  //e 
said  so,  too.  But  it  was  the  adder's  tongue  that 
poisoned  7ny  life.  His  love — his  kiss.  Beware ! 
Remember  I  tell  you,  beware  !  "  and  with  a  bound 
she  darted  again  into  the  thicket  and  was  lost  from 
sight. 

Willie  had  taken  the  reins  from  his  companion 
as  this  unwelcome  apparition  appeared,  but  as  she 
vanished  Phebe  exclaimed : 

"  What  a  horrid  creature !  What  makes  her 
talk  so  strangely?  WJio  is  the  one  she  spoke  of? 
Do  you  know  her?" 


74  thp:  :\iistrkss  of  roskdalk. 

"  Mother  said  she  was  once  the  brightest,  pret- 
tiest girl  anywhere  around  ;  but  her  husband  dis- 
appointed her,  and  was  unkind.  It  was  this,  I  be- 
lieve, that  made  her  what  she  is.  There  used  to 
be  much  good  sense  in  what  she  said — shrewd, 
cunning,  and  not  wholly  gibberish.  But  let  us 
hurr3^  home  ;   Fanny  may  want  3'ou." 

"  Flowers  are  not  for  everybod}^  Did  she  mean 
me,  Willie?     Her  words  make  me  shiver!" 

While  yet  speaking  they  came  round  to  the 
kitchen  door,  where  Fanny  met  them.  Something 
had  evidently  gone  wrong,  for  she  was  flushed,  and 
her  step  was  quick  and  prophetic.  She  had  many 
cares,  and  her  temper  had  not  grown  sweeter  by 
their  constant  pressure. 

"  You  might  as  well  have  staid  out  the  rest  of 
the  morning,  and  let  me  do  everything,"  was  her 
first  exclamation.  She  was  hurrying  past,  and  did 
not,  therefore,  wait  for  a  reply. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Willie,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
saw^  the  flash  of  anger  dart  up  in  his  companion's 
eyes.  "  Take  off  Rover's  harness  and  hasten 
around  to  help  her  about  the  dinner,  will  ^'ou  ?  I 
will  go  and  read,  and  perhaps  think  over  what  poor 
old  Dimis  said  until  you  have  got  through.  But 
promise  me,"  he  continued,  playfully  ;  ''  don't  you 
think  of  her  era  word  she  said,  for  it  is  not  true." 

"  Perhaps  we  may  better  do  as  Fanny  suggested, 
and  go  out  for  the  rest  of  the  morning.  I  wish  we 
could."  Willie  smiled  and  wheeled  himself  into  the 
house. 

There  were  busy  hands  in  the  kitchen  until 
after  the  dinner  hour  that  day,  but  no  cheerful 
word  or  kindly  act  were  thrown  in  to  lessen  its 
tediousness  or  lighten  the  irksome  burdens  of  the 


CRAZY     DIMIS.  75 

unwilling  Phebe.  The  face  upon  which  she  looked 
was  cold  and  hard,  and  a  sort  of  oppressive  bustle 
seemed  to  fill  the  very  atmosphere.  The  knives 
were  to  be  scoured  and  the  potatoes  washed  for  the 
noon  meal,  and  her  old  dislike  of  this  work  had  in 
no  degree  left  her  since  she  was  the  "  good-for-no- 
thing child  "  away  in  the  fisherman's  cot  by  the 
sea.  The  departed  mother  had  often  laughed  at 
her  aversion,  and  shielded  her  from  its  perform- 
ance, but  not  so  with  the  thrifty  Fanny.  Indeed, 
Phebe  imagined  that  these  were  reserved  for  her 
for  the  reason  that  she  "hated"  to  do  them,  and 
this  morning  they  seemed  more  distasteful  than 
ever  before.  It  was  with  no  very  good  grace,  there- 
fore, that  she  went  about  her  task,  and  as  she  stood 
by  the  window  with  the  unpolished  knives  beside 
her,  she  thought  of  her  who  was  sleeping  below 
the  garden  wall,  and  wondered  if  "  she  knew  what 
she  was  doing,  of  her  impatience  and  anger." 
And  then  the  crazy  woman's  gibberings  came 
back,  "  Flowers  are  not  for  everybody  ;"  and  "  the 
thorns  are  sharp,  little  fools." 

"  I  hope  you  will  get  them  done  in  time  to  set 
the  table,"  were  the  quick,  sharp  words  that  broke 
in  upon  her  reverie,  and  brought  in  her  gaze  from 
the  far-off"  to  the  labor  before  her.  The  door  was 
open  into  the  sitting  room,  where  Willie  was  amus- 
ing himself  with  a  book,  and  Phebe  called  out,  "  I 
don't  like  to  scour  knives  and  wash  potatoes,  and  I 
ze/6'«'/,  either.  Do  you  remember  it,  Willie?"  she 
laughed. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  e<y/7/,"  retorted  Fanny.  "  I'd 
just  like  to  know  how  you  expect  to  get  a  living  if 
you  are  going  to  do  nothing  except  what  you  want 
to  do.     You  are   no  better  than  I  am,  and  I  want 


76  THE    MISTRESvS    OF    ROSKDALE. 

you  to  do  this  ever}^  da}^ ;  so  keep  to  work  at  it, 
and  not  be  looking  out  of  the  window." 

Phebe  turned,  but  cauglit  sight  of  Willie's  up- 
lifted hand  of  warning  just  as  a  bitter  retort  darted 
to  her  lips,  and  for  his  sake  she  smothered  her  rage 
and  resumed  her  hated  labor.  She  did  not  enjoy 
any  kind  of  work,  and  never  hesitated  to  express 
her  dislike  for  it.  Perhaps,  had  circumstances 
altogether  different  from  those  that  had  surrounded 
her  l)rightened  up  each  compulsory  service  ;  or  a 
word  of  love  or  praise  been  dropped  now  and  then 
over  the  little  burdens,  it  would  have  been  other- 
wise. But  she  M'as  a  dreamer,  a  child  with  inborn 
fancies,  possessing  a  soul  where  poetry  and  beauty 
reigned  as  twnn  sisters,  growing  and  thriving  upon 
each  other's  life,  but  she  knew  it  not.  She  was 
only  sure  that  her  heart  bounded  in  the  sunshine 
of  genial  associations,  and  sank  with  equal  veloc- 
it3^  beneath  the  clouds  of  depressing  influences. 
A  cold  word,  a  frown,  would  fill  her  soul  with 
gloomy  shadows  for  many  hours,  unless  a  warm 
sunbeam  from  some  loving  heart  came  to  drive  it 
away.  Kind  and  cheerful  as  our  little  heroine 
usually  was,  there  lay  coiled  up  in  her  nature  a 
demon  of  anger  which  sprang  forth  at  every  prov- 
ocation with  the  fury  of  ungoverned  passion.  Poor 
child!  It  had  goaded  her  long  for  one  so  young,  and 
many  times  she  had  struggled  to  resist  its  power, 
but  it  proved  stronger  than  her  will.  Love  alone 
can  subdue  such  natures,  while  opposition  only 
feeds  and  nourishes  their  faults. 

"  Get  out  of  my  way !"  exclaimed  Fanny,  as 
Rover  was  leisurely  crossing  her  path,  while  a 
sudden  movement  of  her  substantial  shoe  gave  a 
new   impetus   to  his  velocity.     Phebe  saw  it,  and 


CRAZY    DIMIS,  i  i 

her  heart  bounded  with  indignation.  Dropping 
her  work  she  darted  forward,  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  the  neck  of  the  noble  dog  exclaimed 
vehemently  :  "  Why  didn't  you  bite  her,  Rover?" 
she  shall  not  kick  you!"  A  blow  from  the  en- 
raged Fanny,  and  a  command  to  return  to  her 
work  silenced  her  for  a  moment,  then  with  the 
fierceness  of  a  tiger  she  sprang  upon  her  antagonist 
and  dealt  blow  after  blow  upon  the  astonished 
Fanny  before  she  had  time  to  recover  from  her 
surprise,  or  to  use  her  powers  of  defence.  In  a 
moment  more,  pale  with  anger  and  fright,  the 
child  was  torn  from  her  position  by  superior 
strength,  and  forced  into  her  own  little  chamber 
with  the  command  "  not  to  leave  it  until  she  re- 
ceived permission.  "  Here  was  a  new  feature  in 
home  affairs. 

"  This  child,  this  pauper,  shall  go  where  she 
belongs !  The  poor-house  is  good  enough  for 
such  as  she  !  At  au}^  rate  I  shall  not  have  such  a 
wild-cat  beneath  wj'  roof  a  great  while!" 

Willie  listened  to  the  ravings  of  his  sister,  while 
his    heart    throbbed    with    unconcealed    emotion. 

"  Yes,  and  j'ou  uphold  her  no  doubt!  You  pity 
her  and  think  she  has  been  greatly  wronged — 
but  it  makes  no  difference  !" 

"  I  do  think,  sister,  that  had  you  sought  for  love 
you  would  have  found  it,  and  love  worketh  no  ill 
to  his  neighbor." 

"  Ivove  I  I  dou''^  want  her  love  or  //er  either  ! 
To  confess  the  truth  I  am  worn  out  with  her  and 
she  must  leave — that  is  all!" 

"  I  know  very  well  that  you  do  not  like  to  have 
me  advocate  Phebe's  cause,  but  did  you  ever 
notice  that  her  exhibitions  of  anger  only  seemed 


78  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSKDALH. 

to  be  the  echo  of  3'onr  own?  I  have  watched  her, 
sister,  with  the  most  intense  interest  when  labor- 
ing under  personal  difficulties  and  perplexities, 
and  I  have  seldom  seen  her  lose  her  patience 
under  au}-  trial.  In  all  the  ^^ears  we  have  spent 
together  she  has  never  grieved  me  b}-  an  ill- 
tempered  word  or  gesture,  because  /  never  gave 
her  one." 

"  So  it  is  all  1UC,  of  course  !  I  must  of  necessit}^ 
stand  sponsor  for  my  own  sins  and  her's  too!" 

"  No  Fanny,  but  I  would  be  plain.  You  are 
too  stern  and  cold,  and  at  times  unjust !  You  for- 
get that  she  is  a  child." 

"  I  have  heard  cnougJi — she  must  leave  the 
house  !"  So  saying  the  enraged  Fanny  left  the 
room,  the  door  closing  behind  her  with  a  prophetic 
firmness  which  Willie  well  understood. 

Phebe  sat  alone  in  her  chamber  until  the  golden 
twilight  settled  down  upon  the  waters  of  the  little 
lake  and  tinted  the  tree  tops  that  cast  their  long 
shadows  out  over  its  bosom,  and  watched  the 
"  lights  and  shades "  which  chased  each  other 
down  the  hillside  and  over  the  meadow  until  the^^ 
rested  on  two  graves  just  beyond  the  garden  wall. 

"  My  mother!  O,  my  mother!"  gushed  up  from 
the  overflowing  heart.  "  Would  that  I  were  be- 
side you  !  You  did  not  hate  me — you  did  not  make 
me  so  wicked  !"  Tears  choked  her  utterance  and 
blinded  her  vision.  Hours  passed  and  then  a  gen- 
tle tap  was  heard  on  her  door,  but  she  did  not 
move.  There  had  been  no  steps  on  the  stairs  and 
well  did  she  know  who  was  pleading  outside  to 
share  her  sorrows. 

"  Phebe,  maj^  /come  in?  It  is  j^ourown  Willie 
— come  and  open  the  door  if  I  may  enter!"      That 


CRAZY     DIMIS.  79 

voice  never  pleaded  in  vain.  Now  it  sank  down 
into  the  wildly  throbbing  heart  as  a  soft  Inllab}^, 
soothing  every  angry  passion  and  illuminating 
the  dark  chambers  of  her  soul  with  the  sweet 
promises  of  peace. 

The  door  was  opened  and  Phebe  returned  to  her 
low  seat  by  the  window  without  a  word.  Willie 
was  soon  beside  her,  sitting,  on  account  of  his  in- 
firmity, at  her  feet ;  his  calm  blue  e3^es  swimming 
with  tears  were  fixed  intently  upon  her  face,  but 
she  apparently  did  not  heed  him. 

"  Will  you  not  speak  to  me,  Phebe?  Let  me 
look  into  your  ej^es — there  is  no  anger  there  for 
nie!  Nothing  but  love,  I  am  sure  of  it !  I  have 
read  it  there  so  many  times,  but  let  me  read  it 
there  once  more — ma\^  I  not?"  The  arms  of  the 
child  were  thrown  about  the  suppliant's  neck  and 
her  tears  fell  fast  as  she  kissed  his  pale  cheek. 

"  I  am  so  wicked,  Willie  !  I  wish  I  were  good 
like  you  and  loved  everjd^ody.  You  never  make 
me  angry,  but  Fanny  alwaj^s  does.  I  can't  help 
it!" 

"  Phebe,  I  love  you.  What  would  my  life  be  if 
you  were  away?  Think  how  long  the  days  would 
be  with  no  one  to  talk  to  and  no  one  to  say  '  I  am 
so  sorry  '  when  sad.  In  a  few  years  at  most  Willie 
will  be  out  there  by  the  side  of  mother,  and  until 
then  I  must  creep  about  just  as  I  always  have 
done ;  but  I  can  bear  it  if  I  have  you  to  cheer  me," 
and  clasping  her  to  his  heart  he  was  not  ashamed 
that  his  tears  mingled  with  hers. 

"  I  am  so  sorr}^,  Willie  !"  she  sobbed  at  length. 
"  I  heard  Fanny  say  that  '  I  should  not  stay  here.' 
I  did  not  care  then,  but  O,  I  cannot  leave  you. 
O — I  will  be  very  good  !     If  mother  was  only  here 


80  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

I  think  I  could  do  an3'tliing — but  I  am  so  wicked  !" 
Darkness  had  settled  down  upon  the  occupants 
of  that  little  chamber  when  Fanny  called  :  "  Willie, 
your  supper  is  read}^ !  Come  down  immediatel}" 
and  let  Phebe  stay  where  she  is!"-  The  child 
darted  to  her  feet  and  hastened  to  open  the  door, 
"  Fannj^"  she  said,  with  a  slight  hesitation  ;  "  I 
want  to  sta}'  here,  but  won't  you  let  me  ask  3'ou 
to  forgive  me?  I  know  I  am  very  wicked  but  I 
will  try  to  do  better !"  The  stern,  cold  Fanny 
hesitated  only  a  moment,  and  then  without  a  smile 
of  encouragement  or  a  cheering  caress  aorced  to 
the  proposition  and  promised  to  let  her  remain 
for  a  while  until  she  had  tried  her  once  more. 
''  Now  come  down  to  supper,"  she  continued,  "  for  I 
am  in  a  hurr}^  to  get  ni}'  work  done  !  Was  iliis 
forgiveness?  A  balm  to  heal  the  wounds  of  in- 
jur}^? Poor,  sin-sick  soul !  Did  th}^  heavenl}^ 
friend  ever  look  so  coldly  upon  thy  penitence? 
When  did  Pie  ever  pour  the  "gall  of  bitterness  " 
into  the  wounds  of  a  humiliated  heart?  Small 
would  be  the  reward  of  "human  justice"  if  the  in- 
tercessor did  not  continuall}^  stand  between  us  and 
our  petition,  "  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  for- 
give them  that  trespass  against  us." 

"You  are  a  noble  girl!"  exclaimed  Willie  as 
Phebe  returned  to  her  seat  hy  the  window.  "  I 
will  leave  you  now ;  3'ou  may  come  or  stay  as  you 
choose — all  will  yet  be  right." 


CHAPTER  VIL 

CHANGES  IN  THE  COTTaGE  HOME. 

Be  kind  to  the  child !  Build  with  great  care 
and  skill  the  foundations  upon  which  is  to  be 
reared  a  life  whose  influences  are  to  reach  into  the 
ages  that  have  no  end.  There  is  no  living  by 
one's  self,  and  the  great  net-work  of  human  exis- 
tence may  be  warped  and  misshapen  by  07ic  chill- 
ing neglect  or  a  palpable  wrong !  Even  so  does 
the  individual  life  often  become  marred  beyond 
remedy  when  it  is  tender  and  susceptible  to  the 
guiding  hand.  There  are  natures  so  finely  and 
sensitively  constituted  that  every  rude  blast  twists 
and  bends  the  silver  wires  of  the  organization  until 
the  music  is  dead,  and  the  case,  although  polished 
and  beautiful  to  the  eye,  stands  a  wreck  of  what  it 
should  have  been.  Such  were  the  surroundings 
of  our  little  heroine.  For  fourteen  years  she  had 
been  the  child  of  "  circumstances,"  her  days  filled 
up  with  tears  and  laughter  and  her  nights  with 
idle  dreams.  No  mother's  love  had  ever  twined 
itself  about  her  young  heart  to  nourish  and  foster 
the  tender  plants  of  sweetness  and  purity  which 
was  to  make  her  life  beautiful  with  their  variega- 
ted blossoms,  or  root  up  the  entangling  weeds  with 
which  she  must  ever  after  contend.  Mrs.  Evans 
had  indeed  been  kind  to  her  as  the  "  companion  of 
her  afflicted   boy,"  as  she  would  also  have  been  to 

81 


82  THE    MIvSTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

a  pet  kitten  or  an3^thing  that  would  have  added  to 
the  happiness  or  comfort  of  her  child.  Yet  she 
did  not  fail  to  perceive  when  her  vision  began  to 
grow  dim  to  the  world  that  the  "casket"  which 
had  been  thus  opportunel}-  cast  at  her  feet  con- 
tained jewels  which  were  worth  securing.  The 
last  few  da3's  and  weeks  of  the  onl}-  one  whom  her 
heart  ever  claimed  as  viotker  left  their  impress  on 
her  soul  which  never  faded  away.  It  was  a  taste 
at  least  of  that  love  for  which  she  had  so  often 
longed — such  as  a  child  must  have  or  be  misera- 
ble !  But  even  that  was  all  over  now.  True,  Wil- 
lie had  been  her  dear  brother  ever  since,  her 
comfort  when  sorrows  overshadowed  her,  her  help 
through  scenes  of  trouble.  But  a  cloud  darker 
and  denser  than  au}^  of  its  predecessors  was  spread- 
ing itself  over  them  both.  Sad  news  had  come  to 
them  from  over  the  sea — the  far  off  dark,  dark 
sea.  Alone  they  sat  together  in  the  door-way  one 
evening  where  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
came  and  pla3'ed  about  their  bowed  forms,  caress- 
ing their  damp  cheeks  ;  but  for  once  thej^  were  not 
heeded. 

"  We  are  orphans  now,  Phebe — poor,  lone  or- 
phans! Never  did  I  feel  the  miseries  of  my 
decrepitude  as  now  !  I  am  helpless,  and  wJio  will 
take  care  of  you?  The  thought  doubles  my  sor- 
row !  I  ought  to  be  a  man  and  comfort  rather 
than  to  add  to  your  depression ;  but  I  am  a  weak, 
helpless  child,  even  more  so,  my  sister,  than  you 
to-night."  Phebe  raised  her  head  from  her  hand 
where  it  had  been  resting  and  fixed  her  large  eyes 
upon  the  pale  face  before  her. 

"  Willie,  do  /look  like  a  child?"  she  asked.  "It 
has  not  been   twenty-four  hours  since  we  received 


CHANGES  IN  THE  COTTAGE  HOINIl'..      83 

the  sad  news  that  our  father  had  been  swallowed 
up  by  the  great  sea  I  love  so  well ;  still  he  is  not 
dead  to  me,  but  has  only  gone  where  /  in  ni}^ 
childish  fancy  so  longed  to  go,  therefore  I  cannot 
'  make  him  dead ;'  he's  only  resting  while  he  calls 
upon  me  to  act !  Willie,  I  am  no  longer  a  child, 
for  every  hour  has  seemed  to  add  a  year  to  my 
life  since  that  letter  came !  I  am  strong,  and 
thanks  to  you  and  the  dear  ones  who  have  so  long 
sheltered  me  from  the  storms,  I  have  a  little  stock 
of  knowledge  to  begin  my  future  with  ;  I  shall  act." 
Her  gaze  had  wandered  off  to  the  golden  clouds 
that  were  hanging  over  the  little  lake  as  she  spoke, 
and  a  look   of  firm   resolve  stole  over  her  features. 

"  I  see  my  fate  written  upon  3^our  face !"  replied 
Willie  mournfully.  "  How  can  I  endure  the  lonely 
hours,  the  lengthening  days?  But  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  Somehow  the  fates  have  turned  against 
me,  Phebe,  and  have  taken  away  U(y  years  to  add 
them  to  yours.  I  will  not  be  so  childishl}^  selfish. 
But  sister,  you  will  need  a  friend.  How  can  you 
go  out  into  the  world  alone?" 

"I  have  a  friend!  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  think 
me  so  destitute  Willie.  Have  you  forgotten  crazy 
Dimis?"  A  low  subdued  laugh  escaped  the  lips  of 
both  at  the  suggestion  and  mingled  itself  with  the 
soft  evening  breeze.  Suddenly  they  started  for  a 
voice  harsh  and  cold  as  a  winter's  wind  was  near 
them  which  chilled  the  soft  melody  and  sent  it 
back  to  their  wounded  hearts  in  a  low  sad  wail.  It 
waj  Fanny  who  spoke. 

"  Your  grief  must  have  been  terrible  to  have 
been  forgotten  so  soon  !  she  exclaimed.  "  Yon  can 
go  in,  Phebe,  and   take  care  of  the  supper  table  if 


84  THE  .IMIvSTRKSS   OF    ROSKDALE. 

yon  have  got  through  crying,"  she  continued  bit- 
terly. 

Phebe  arose  withont  a  word.  For  once  her  anger 
did  not  rise  to  goad  her.  Could  it  be  that  her 
power  over  this  her  greatest  enemy  had  gained 
strength  also  with  her  seemingly  multiplied  years? 

Faun}'  took  the  seat  that  was  just  vacated  bv 
the  side  of  her  brother. 

"What  is  Phebe  going  to  do?"  was  the  abrupt 
oucstion. 

"  What  would  3^011  like  her  to  do?  I  suppose 
she  will  be  willing  to  be  guided  b}^  3'our  counsel." 

"HumiDh!  Willing!  It  would. be  the  first  time 
that  she  was  ever  willing  to  do  an^'thing  I  wanted 
her  to  do,  and  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  she 
would  be  more  unwilling  to  accede  to  my  wishes 
at  this  time  than  ever  before,  for  I  want  her  to 
leave  the  house !  Vote  do  not  need  her  now  for 
3^ou  are  old  enongh  to  amuse  3'ourself  I  should 
think,  and /certainly  do  not  I  There  is  to  be  a 
new  master  here  before  the  fall  work  begins,  as  I 
suppose  3'ou  knoM\"  The  last  remark  was  made 
in  a  lower  tone  of  voice  and  Willie  readil3^  under- 
stood that  she  referred  to  her  approaching  mar- 
riage with  ]\Ir.  Hopkins,  a  3^oung  farmer  lining  a 
few  miles  a\va3' ;  but  as  he  made  no  ^'epl3'  she  con- 
tinued. "  I  do  not  suppose  he  would  be  pleased  to 
have  ion  man3^  incumbrances,  and  Phebe  is  old 
enouoh  and  able  to  take  care  of  herself." 

"  Perhaps  he  would  like  to  have  me  also  vacate 
his  prospective  premises,"  responded  the  brother 
with  an  unnatural  bitterness  in  his  voice. 

"  O,  no !  He  is  well  aware  that  yo7i  can  do 
nothing  for  3'ourself  and  has  made  no  objections 
to  vo?i?-  remaining." 


CUANGE.S    IN    THE    COTTAGE  HOME.  85 

There  were  sleepless  eyes  wet  with  weeping 
that  night  beneath  the  homestead  roof  as  the  mid- 
night hour  spread  over  it  her  dark  wings,  but  it 
bore  away  on  its  upward  pinions  the  trusting  faith 
— the  childlike  submission  of  one  heart  at  least  to 
him  who  is  ever  a  "  father  to  the  fatherless  ones." 

"  Now  for  a  long  ride  down  by  the  pond  and 
along  the  sandy  beach,  where  we  can  see  the  lilies 
on  the  water,  and  if  the  boat  is  not  fastened  I  will 
gather  a  few  for  you  once  more,"  prattled  Phebe, 
as  on  the  ensuing  forenoon  she  walked  by  the  lit- 
tle wagon  (which  was  now  too  small  for  both), 
as  was  her  usual  custom  when  the  morning's  work 
was  done. 

How  could  Willie  ever  forego  these  pleasures  ? 
He  would  continue  his  rides,  drawn  by  the  faithful 
Rover,  who  had  seemed  to  enjoy  these  excur- 
sions equally  with  his  young  master  and  mistress. 
But  Phebe  always  walked  by  his  side,  now  patting 
his  soft  coat,  or  gathering  flowers  for  him  who 
could  not  skip  about  so  blithel^^  and  easily  as  did 
she,  or  now  and  then  helping  the  faithful  Rover 
over  the  rough  places,  praising  and  caressing  him 
for  his  valor  and  strength  in  overcoming  difficul- 
ties. Happy  trio!  And  was  it  possible  that  all 
this  must  end? 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  Willie,  what  my  true 
name  is  ?  You  have  not  called  me  Lily-Pearl  for 
a  lo)ig  time,"  she  remarked,  as  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  pure  white  blossoms  that  dotted  the  surface 
of  the  lake.  "  /shall  never  forget  it.  See,  Willie, 
that  beautiful  lily  yonder  by  that  large  leaf.  How 
the  ripples  that  come  sweeping  around  the  sandbar 
keep  tossing  it  up  and  down,  never  allowing  it  to 
be  quiet  a  moment.     O,  it  really  makes  me  tired 


so  THE    MISTREvSS    OF    ROvSEDALE. 

to  look  at  it.  Yet  that  is  mc,  Willie !  That  is 
'  Lily-Pearl !'  I  am  going  to  get  it  for  you  to  keep. 
When  I  am  gone,  and  3/ou  look  at  it,  think  that  I 
am  no  more  '  little  Pliebe,'  but  your  own  '  Lily,' 
who  will  never  forget  or  forsake  you,  my  brother." 
Sa3dng  this  she  bounded  into  the  little  open  boat, 
and  with  accustomed  dexterity  soon  made  her  way  to 
the  point  designated.  It  was  no  unusual  labor  for 
her  willing  hands,  it  being  one  of  her  greatest 
amusements  when  the  little  pond  was  decked  with 
these  fragrant  blossoms  to  gather  them. 

Willie  watched  her  for  a  moment,  as  she  glided 
away  from  him,  and  then  his  coming  desolation 
swept  over  his  soul  like  a  flood,  and  her  form  was 
hidden  from  his  sight. 

"See,  Willie,  I  have  it!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
held  up  the  coveted  treasure,  exposing  the  long, 
smooth  stem,  by  which,  as  she  said,  the  mother 
pearl  held  it  fast.  "  It  came  near  pulling  me  iu. 
Did  you  see  me,  Willie  ?" 

But  he  did  not.  See  her  ?  How  could  he  through 
all  those  blinding  tears  that  came  bubbling  up  rap- 
idly from  his  bursting  heart?  He  had  crept  from 
his  seat  in  the  wagon  and  made  his  way  to  a  grassy 
knoll  close  by,  and  there  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
old  oak  tree  where  they  had  often  sat  together  he 
gave  free  vent  to  his  emotions.  The  sky  was  calm 
and  blue  above  him,  and  here  and  there  a  soft, 
fleecy  cloud  floated  through  the  clear  sunbeams 
of  the  July  morning;  the  lake,  beautiful  in  its 
gorgeous  frame-work  of  hills  and  woods,  lay 
spread  out  like  a  mirror,  upon  which  the  rays 
danced  and  sported  close  to  the  water's  edge,  pen- 
etrating the  shadows  and  lulling  the  murmur  of 
the  leaves,  throwing  over   the  prostrate  figure  of 


CHANGES  IN  THE  COTTAGE  HOME.      87 

the  weeping  boy  a  net-work  of  lights  and  shades 
from  the  branches  above  him.  Phebe  had  seen 
him  from  the  boat,  and  in  a  moment  more  was 
standing  beside  him,  her  heart  throbbing  with 
sympathy  and  grief.  She  had  thought  to  keep 
away  this  dark  shadow  for  awhile  by  her  merry 
words,  but  it  was  over  now ;  and  throwing  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Willie,  my  dear  brother,  do  not  feel  so  badly. 
It  is  true,  I  must  go  and  leave  you  for  a  time,  but 
you  are  mine — all  I  have  to  love  and  work  for. 
What  do  I  care  for  any  but  you  ?  Yes,  I  must  go. 
I  heard  what  Fanny  said  last  night,  but  it  was  no 
more  than  I  have  heard  before,  or  than  I  expected. 
Yet  it  makes  me  strong.  I  can  leave  you  now,  but 
only  for  a  little  while.  We  will  not  be  separated 
long,  /will  come  to  you.  Our  mother  gave  you 
to  me,  and  I  promised  to  cling  to  you.  O  Willie, 
you  shall  see  how  I  can  work,  how  much  I  can  ac- 
complish !  I  will  do  more  than  was  ever  done  be- 
fore me  by  a  '  cast-away.'  Do  you  not  believe  me  ?" 

Putting  her  hand  under  his  head,  she  turned  his 
pale  wet  face  up  to  her  view.  He  did  not  try  to 
prevent  her,  but  lay  quietly  as  she  placed  him. 

"  Look  into  my  eyes,  Willie.  /  am  not  weeping. 
It  seems  to  me  I  can  never  shed  another  tear.  I 
feel  so  strong  !  The  future,  brother  !  O  the  future  ! 
What  a  great  huge  painting  it  seems  !  But  it  is 
not  full  yet.  /  shall  do  something  there ;  my 
hands  will  help  to  color  it.     Yes,  /,  little  Phebe." 

*'  I  do  not  doubt  it.  There  is  a  destiny  for  such 
as  you.  A  mission  awaits  you.  I  will  be  more 
brave,  more  manly.  You  could  not  remain  with 
me.     A  higher  position  than  the  partnership  with 


88  TIII^    MISTRESS    UF    ROSEDALH. 

a  cripple  or  hostler  to  a  big  mastiff  is  meted  out  to 
yon;' 

A  smile  for  an  instant  broke  over  his  clouded 
face,  and  Pliebe  laughed  outright. 

''  Give  me  the  lil}^"  he  said,  at  last,  reaching 
out  his  hand  for  the  coveted  treasure.  "  We  will 
divide  it.  You  shall  have  the  long  smooth  stalk 
while  /will  keep  the  flower.  Henceforth  you  are 
my  lily,  sweet  and  precious  to  me ;  while  / — / — 
well,  I  am  nothing  but  the  withered,  crooked  ten- 
dril seeking  to  wind  itself  about  your  loving  heart." 

She  darted  from  his  side  before  the  last  sentence 
was  finished,  and  her  companion  following  with  his 
eyes  her  light,  bouyant  figure,  saw  standing  on  an 
elevation  of  ground  not  far  off,  the  well  known 
form  of  crazy  Diniis. 

"I  have  found  a  double  blackberry,"  she  called, 
holding  up  something  between  her  long,  bony 
thumb  and  finger,  "  come  and  see  it." 

Phebe  went  to  her. 

"  Those  are  not  double.  Aunt  Dimis,"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Don't  two  make  a  double  ?  Put  them  together 
and  then  they  do — there  !  It's  a  good  omen  for 
you,  sill}^  child.  Make  them  double,  help  the 
time.  We  must  help.  Ha  !  ha  !  And  help  Fate  ! 
Don't  /know,  child?  P'ate  is  waiting  for  you! 
Go  and  help  her  make  omens.  But  make  them 
good  !  Ha  !  ha  !  /  didn't  but  I  will.  Silly  fools. 
Cry  and  love;  by  and  by  it  will  be  love  and  cry. 
Don't  I  now?  Go  back  to  Jiini!  /don't  want  you." 
And  with  a  bound  she  sprang  over  the  fence  and 
was  lost  in  the  thick  underbrush  of  the  honey- 
suckle swamp. 


CHANGES  IN  THE  COTTAGE  HOME-      89 

Pliebe  called  loudly  after  her  but  she  was  not 
heeded.  She  wanted  to  ask  her  about  a  certain 
good  lady,  Mrs.  Ernest,  for  this  same  half-crazed 
gibbering  woman  had  awakened  an  interest  for 
Phebe  in  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Ernest,  and  it  was  no 
idle  jest  when  she  told  Willie  that  "  Crazy  Dimis" 
was  her  friend.  She  now  returned  slowly  to  her 
companion,  who  was  watchiug  her. 

"  What  did  that  crazy  creature  say  to  you  ?"  he 
asked,  somewhat  impatiently.  "  Nothing  good,  I 
know." 

"  Yes  it  was.  She  told  me  to  go  and  help  Fate. 
I  suppose  she  meant  to  have  me  fill  up  that  picture 
I  was  telling  you  about,  and  I  must  go.  To-mor- 
row I  shall  start.  Do  not  look  at  me  so !  you  shall 
know  all — everything  I  do  or  hope  to  do ;  and  I 
shall  come  to  see  you  often.  Mrs.  Ernest  has 
promised  to  help  me  all  she  can,  and  I  think  I  can 
make  her  my  friend.  It  will  be  only  a  short  run 
for  Rover,  and  you  must  ride  over  there  often — as 
often  as  you  would  like  to  hear  from  me,  will  you?" 

She  kissed  his  white  foarehead,  then  giving  a 
low  shrill  whistle,  which  the  faithful  dog  well 
understood,  she  said  :  "  We  must  go  home,  for 
it  is  time  to  help  get  dinner." 

In  a  moment  more  Rover  with  his  wagon  came  up 
in  good  style,  and  they  started  down  the  path  which 
wound  around  by  the  meadow  brook  through  the 
clump  of  pine  trees  which  stood  as  sentinels  over 
the  two  graves  beyond  the  garden  wall. 

"  How  I  wish  father  were  sleeping  there  instead 
of  beneath  the  waves,"  cried  Willie;  and  no  other 
word  was  spoken.  What  wonder  ?  How  soon  the 
paths  were  to  branch  off  from  each  other !  Already 
the  lonely  cripple  felt  the  shadows  creeping  over 


90 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSRDALE. 


hi  111  that  were  surely  to  cover  his  dreary  pathway 
as  he  wandered  on  ah)iie.  His  heart  was  full  of 
these  sad  forebodings,  and  he  pressed  the  memento 
of  his  helplessness  more  closely  in  his  hand  as  the 
spirit  of  rebellion  for  a  moment  arose  to  goad  him. 
Then  "  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee" 
came  as  a  soft  and  gentle  whisper  to  his  soul,  and 
looking  up  as  Rover  halted  by  the  kitchen  door 
he  said  mildly:  "We  shall  all  come  together 
again,  Phebe." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OUT   INTO   THE   WORLD. 

"  There  !  That  is  the  third  time  I  have  called 
that  girl  this  morning !  She  ean  lie  in  bed  now 
until  she  gets  tired  of  it !  It  is  so  provoking ! 
And  after  telling  her  last  night  that  I  should 
want  her  early.     I  am  out  of  all  patience  ! 

Willie  could  not  suppress  a  smile  as  this  volley 
of  indignation  greeted  him  upon  entering  the 
breakfast  room  on  the  morning  following  the 
scenes  related  in  our  last  chapter,  although  his 
heart  was  sad,  but  he  made  no  reply  and  Fanu}^ 
continued :  "  I  Jiad  made  up  my  mind  to  let  her 
stay  a  while  longer ;  perhaps  through  the  winter, 
for  after  all  it  is  hard  to  be  sent  out  into  the  world 
to  earn  one's  own  living !  Besides,  she  would 
never  get  along!  No  one  would  have  patience 
with  her,  for  work  she  will  not !  And  how  can  a 
poor  girl  get  her  living  if  she  will  not  work  ?  But 
it  is  all  up  now !  I  can't  and  won't  support  her 
for  nothing!"  Fanny's  rapid  step  and  the  brisk 
rattling  of  the  breakfast  dishes  kept  up  all  the 
time  an  active  accompaniment  to  her  words  as  she 
continued  talking  while  preparing  their  early 
morning  meal. 

Willie  listened  to  it  all  as  he  sat  by  the  window 
and  looked  out  upon  the  dewy  grass  and  took'  in 
the   soft  beauties  of  the  variegated  landscape  that 

91 


!>-  THE    MISTRKSS   OF    ROSEDALH. 

lay  stretched  out  before  liini,  over  whieli  the  first 
rays  of  the  suiiiiiier  sun  eauie  gently  stealing, 
driving  back  the  dark  shadows  into  the  thick 
woodland  upon  the  hillside.  He  then  opened  the 
window.  There  was  music  in  the  maple  trees  near 
where  the  robins  had  built  their  nests — there  was 
fragrance  in  the  cool  fresh  breeze  that  came  and 
fanned  his  troubled  brow.  Just  outside  the  yard 
the  hay-makers  stood  with  laughter  and  jest  while 
they  whetted  their  glittering  scj'thes  preparattu'y 
to  their  dailv  labor,  while  all  the  time  their  brown 
faces  wore  the  pleasant  smile  of  health  and  con- 
tentment. Poor  Willie  !  He  could  only  sit  and 
look  at  them  and  pra}-  for  j^atience  and  resigna- 
tion. 

A  remark  from  Fanny  recalled  him,  and  he  re- 
plied :  "  1  would  go  and  call  her  but  it  would  be 
useless  for  she  is  not  here  !'' 

"Not  here?  What  do  you  mean?  Has  she 
gone?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  gone,  and  it  is  my  opinion  sister 
that  you  will  miss  her  nearly  if  not  Cjuite  as  much 
as  /." 

"Gone!  The  heartless  creature!  This  is  all 
the  thanks  one  ever  gets  for  taking  care  of  a  good- 
for-nothing  nobody  for  years !  It  is  pretty  pay 
now  to  clear  out  just  as  she  uiigJii  have  been  of 
some  use,  and  without  a  word  too !" 

"  You  must  have  forgotten  all  you  have  been 
saying  to  her  ever  since  we  received  the  sad  news 
of  father's  death,"  replied  Willie  with  some  bitter- 
ness. "Still  you  are  mistaken;  she  did  not  leave 
without  a  word.  She  has  told  me  several  times 
that  she  was  going,  although  I  could  not  believe 
it,  and  when  I   came  out  of  my  room  I  found  this 


OUT   INTO   THE  WORLD.  93 

letter  under  my  door.     You  can  read  it  if  3'ou  wish 
when  you  have  time." 

Without  a  word  she  took  it  from  his  hand  and 
read  as  follows  :  "I  cannot  say  good-bye  Willie, 
and  so  as  soon  as  the  gray,  dawn  creeps  over  the 
mountain  top  I  shall  steal  from  this  house  and  go 
— God  only  knows  where !  I  came  here  eight 
years  ago  a  little  strange  child,  leaving  the  first 
real  friend  in  all  my  life  far  behind  on  the  road  to 
grieve  at  ni}^  absence,  and  now  I  go  leaving  only 
you  my  brother  to  be  sad  because  I  am  not  here. 
Yo7c  will  miss  me  ;  and  when  I  think  how  lonely 
you  will  be  without  your  '  little  Phebe  '  to  talk  to 
I  shall  shed  mau}^  tears.  O,  Willie  I  It  is  dread- 
ful to  leave  the  only  one  who  loves  us  to  go  off 
alone,  but  I  shall  find  friends,  I  know  I  shall !  Do 
not  be  unhappy.  Tell  Fanny  sometime,  if  she  ever 
inquires  as  to  my  welfare,  that  I  should  have  been 
happier  to-night  if  she  had  loved  me,  or  at  least 
had  exercised  more  patience  with  my  many 
faults.  I  know  I  have  tried  her.  Somehow  I  am 
not  like  the  other  girls  about  here  ;  they  are  satis- 
fied, but  / — yes,  Willie,  I  want  to  fly — go  up 
among  the  clouds  or  down  among  the  pearls — I 
don't  know  which,  but  some  spirit  goads  me  on — 
God  only  knows  where.  I  am  looking  out  to- 
night upon  the  world  where  I  am  going  for  my 
new  life  with  more  fear  and  trembling  than  when 
in  a  little  open  boat  I  drifted  away  over  a  stormy 
ocean  all  alone.  But  it  is  better  so.  A  hundred 
times  I  have  shivered  and  shrunk  before  the  storm 
of  Fanny's  indignation,  and  as  I  remember  it,  a 
peace  steals  over  me  even  now  with  the  great  un- 
known future  before  me.  I  did  desire  to  do  all  she 
asked  of  me,  but  I  could  not  and  so  I  must   go ! 


94  THE    MiSTRESvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

Perhaps  she  may  yet  think  kindly  of  me,  who 
knows  ?  I  am  strong  to-night  dear  Willie,  not- 
withstanding this  paper  has  so  man\^  tear-stains 
upon  it!  How  a  few  days  have  changed  me — no 
longer  a  child  but  a  woman  going  forth,  as  crazy 
Diniis  c^^jifrmanded  me,  '-to  make  m\^  fate,  make 
omens.'  So  good-b3''e  ;  remember  what  I  told  you 
you  of  Mrs.  Ernest.  PhebE." 

It  was  finished  and  Fann3^  handed  it  back  to 
her  brother  without  speaking.  O  how  long  that 
da}^  seemed  !  The  sun  came  out  hot  and  sultry, 
drinking  up  the  dew  from  the  grass  and  withering 
the  soft  petals  of  the  flowers  ;  the  locust  sang  his 
monotonous  song  in  the  shade  and  the  mowers 
went  busily  on  with  their  work,  and  the  hours 
crept  slowl}'  b}'.  Fanny  was  unusually  silent;  her 
bus}"  hands  seemed  never  to  tire,  but  her  face  all 
day  wore  a  wear}',  anxious  look  such  as  betokened 
thought. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  just  before  the  time 
for  milking,  that  she  came  and  seated  herself  on 
the  lounge  b}-  her  brother.  Perhaps  the  menior}^ 
of  that  mother  who  once  sat  there  on  just  such  a 
bright  summer  evening  four  years  before  came 
back  to  her,  for  it  was  then  when  she  told  Phebe 
never  to  leave  her  poor  lame  boy,  always  to  love 
and  comfort  him.  Who  was  to  blame  that  the 
child  was  now  an  outcast,  or  that  the  poor  mother- 
less crijjple  sat  there  in  that  very  spot  lonely  and 
sad?  She  did  not  speak  for  a  moment  as  if  ashamed 
of  the  womanly  emotion  that  swelled  her  bosom. 
At  last  she  said  hurriedly :  "  What  did  Phebe 
mean  about  Mrs.  Ernest?" 

"  She  has  told  me  that  I  could  hear  about  her 
by  going  there  occasionally." 


OUT   INTO   THE  WORLD.  95  * 

*'  Why  did  you  not  go  to-da}^?" 

'*  I  thought  I  would  wait  until  to-morrow,  then 
perhaps  I  might  hear  more,"  was  the  low  reply. 
"  She  can  have  no  definite  plans  as  yet,  but  I  will 
go  in  the  morning." 

"  I  will  harness  Rover  any  time  for  yoUj"  con- 
tinued Fanny  as  she  moved  away  to  attend  to  her 
evening  duties. 

Willie  dropped  his  head  upon  the  pillow  beside 
him  and  lay  there  motionless  and  still  until  the 
twilight  shadows  came  creeping  in  at  the  window, 
covering  him  with  a  thick  black  pall.  He  could 
have  wished  that  night  that  they  might  have 
buried  him  forever  with  their  sombre  folds,  so 
harshly  did  life's  greatest  joys  contrast  with  his 
overwhelming  griefs  ! 

Early  the  next  morning  Willie  was  on  his  way 
to  the  village  drawn  by  the  faithful  Rover.  It 
was  a  long  time  since  he  had  been  over  that  road 
alone,  and  at  first  he  felt  like  shrinking  from  the 
task. 

A  carriage  came  and  swept  over  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  drew  nearer,  then  passed  him.  A  lady  oc- 
cupied the  back  seat  alone.  She  was  a  stranger 
but  their  eyes  met.  Hers  so  full  of  tenderness  and 
pity — his  bright  with  apprehension  and  suspense. 
He  was  sure  that  a  tear  glistened  in  her  blue  eye, 
but  when  he  turned  to  look  again  she  was  gone. 
The  driver  he  knew.  The  carriage  belonged  to 
the  village  hotel,  and  "  Frank"  always  drove  that 
span  of  grays.  Once  more  Willie  turned  to  look. 
and  as  he  did  so  saw  that  the  lady  had  bent  for- 
ward as  if  to  speak  to  him.  "  She  knows  how  to 
sympathize  with  such  as  /,"  he  thought,  "  for  her 
expression  was  so  kindly  and  gentle.     Those  eyes 


9()  THE    IMIvSTRKSS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

— the}^  were  so  like  my  motlier^s.  A  deep,  heav- 
enly look  as  if  wishing  for  something  she  had  hot 
yet  received,  which  fonnd  its  way  into  hers  before 
they  closed  forever!"  and  a  tear  dimmed  his  own 
vision  for  a  moment  onl}' ;  then  his  thoughts  re- 
turned to  the  beauties  around  him  and  to  Iir?'  he 
was  going  perhaps  to  see  again.  The  roads  were 
fine  and  Rover  was  in  excellent  spirits,  so  that  in 
a  short  time  the  village  church  loomed  up  in  sight. 
Close  by  it  was  the  parsonage — bej^ond  tlie  long 
row  of  neatly-painted  dwellings  surrounded  with 
bright  green  shrubbery  and  a  pleasant  lawn  reach- 
ing to  the  road,  finally  the  hotel  with  its  balconies 
and  loft}^  cupola,  which  overtopped  the  principal 
business  portion  of  the  unassuming  little  town. 
To  the  farther  store  on  the  main  street  Willie  was 
to  go  on  an  errand  for  his  sister,  but  first  of  all  he 
would  call  at  the  parsonage.  How  his  heart 
bounded  with  the  prospect  of  coming  J03',  then 
sank  again  as  the  uncertainty  rolled  over  him. 
Where  was  Phebe? 

And  where  was  Phebe?  That  morning,  with 
her  eyes  full  of  tears  she  had  stood  in  the  little 
chamber  where  she  had  spent  so  many  pleasant 
hours  and  dreamed  so  mau}^  pleasant  dreams  ;  the 
room  she  must  now  leave,  with  all  of  its  hallowed 
associations,  its  garnered  memories,  to  prove  the 
father's  unfailing  promises  of  care  and  protection  ! 

"  You  could  not  have  forseen  all  this  dear,  dear 
mother!"  she  mused  as  she  turned  to  the  window 
where  the  white  marble  stood  so  chill  and  comfort- 
less in  the  morning  shadows,  "or  you  would  never 
have  placed  your  helpless  boy  in  my  care.  But  I 
must  go.  This  pleasant  cottage  is  my  home  no 
more !     The  flowers  I  have  planted  in  the  garden 


OUT   INTO   THE  WORLD.  97 

yonder — the  bed  of  lilies  these  hands  have  tended 
so  long  for  your  sake  must  bloom  on  without  me." 
The  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun  crept  up  from 
behind  the  eastern  hills  and  rested  as  a  sweet  pro- 
phetic peace  on  the  tree-tops  that  reared  their 
stately  heads  above  the  lingering  night  shades, 
and  taking  the  letter  she  had  v/ritten  the  night 
previously  stole  softly  from  the  room  and  thrust  it 
under  the  door  where  Willie  was  sleeping  all  un- 
conscious of  the  wretchedness  that  was  wringing 
such  bitter  tears  from  her  loving  heart  as  she 
though  how  he  would  miss  her,  and  how  lonely 
would  be  his  morning  ride  down  by  the  little  pond 
without  her.  "Farewell!"  she  whispered,  and 
then  descended  the  stairs,  stopping  a  moment  to 
kiss  the  noble  Rover  and  quickly  passed  on  out  in 
the  world !  The  short  past  with  its  changes,  its 
reachings  and  its  longings  were  to  be  left  behind, 
while  the  broad  future  with  its  hopes,  allurements 
and  ambitions  lay  before  her.  With  a  shrinking 
heart  but  firm  tread  she  stepped  into  the  untried 
path  and  walked  steadily  forward.  Someone  has 
said  that  "the  secret  of  true  blessedness  is  charac- 
ter^ not  condition ;  that  happiness  consists  in  not 
where  we  are  but  what  we  are.  Our  lives  resemble 
much  the  Alpine  countries  where  winter  is  found 
at  the  side  of  summer,  and  where  it  is  but  a  step 
from  a  garden  to  a  glacier.  Our  little  heroine 
found  this  to  be  so.  It  had  been  summer  in  the 
little  cottage,  not  all  sunshine  nor  all  storms,  for 
the  days  were  as  ever  changeful  and  the  years 
scattered  over  her  life  their  shadows  and  their 
peaceful  calms.  "  Go  help  fate  make  omens" 
crazy  Dimis  had  said,  and  with  many  a  firm  re- 
solve she  had  said  to  Willie,  "  I  will  do  it !"  There 


98  THE   ^IIvSTRESvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

was  a  world  of  mysteries  before  her  out  of  wliicli 
the  "  omens  "  were  to  be  created,  and  little  did  she 
understand  the  waj'  in  which  she  was  to  be  led. 
The  perjured  woman  whose  daughter  had  given 
birth  to  "  Ivillie-Pearl  "  had  listened  to  the  whis- 
perings of  the  serpent,  and  the  great  problem  of 
justice  was  to  be  worked  out  in  the  ever  changing 
adventures  of  "  poor  little  Pliebe,"  and  now  with  a 
satchel  in  her  hand  she  had  left  all  she.  had  known 
of  love,  and  was  alone  upon  the  road  where  the 
cool  morning  zephyrs  petted  and  caressed  her. 
"  My  life!''  she  thought  as  she  walked  on  towards 
the  parsonage.  "  If  we  are  God's  children  we  need 
not  fear  the  developments  of  his  changing  provi- 
dences," Mr.  Ernest  had  said  to  her  one  day  while 
speaking  to  him  of  her  future,  and  now  these 
words  came  to  her  as  bright  and  cheering  as  the 
raj^s  of  the  morning  sun,  for  both  had  driven  away 
the  darkness  from  her  faith.  Years  after  did 
memory  return  to  this  early  morn  to  tread  again 
the  sandy  road  and  listen  to  the  chorus  of  the 
birdling's  song,  or  watch  with  palpitating  heart 
the  silvery  glories  as  they  spread  themselves  over 
the  eastern  sky ;  and  then  return  to  the  noonday 
scenes  of  an  eventful  life  through  which  she  had 
been  guided. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN   UPPER  ROOM    IN  THE  HOTEL. 

Mrs.  Kruest  while  bustling  about  in  lier  kitchen 
saw  her  visitor  approaching,  and  with  broom  in 
hand  came  out  to  welcome  him.  He  was  no  stranger 
here,  and  few  ever  came  who  received  a  warmer 
greeting. 

"  How  bright  and  fresh  you  look  from  your  early 
morning  ride,"  was  the  good  lady's  salutation,  and 
throwing  down  a  piece  of  carpet  on  the  damp 
ground  stood  patting  Rover  and  chatting  merrily 
all  the  while  as  Willie  crept  into  the  house. 

"  I  suppose  /  am  not  to  feel  at  all  flattered  by 
this  early  call,  for  already  something  tells  me  that 
Phebe  is  the  object  of  your  visit,"  she  laughingly 
said,  while  following  him  into  the  house;  "so  I 
will  turn  you  over  to  Mr.  Ernest  with  all  the  in- 
dignation I  can  muster,"  and  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder  she  cheerily  invited  him  to  the  study. 

The  occupant  of  the  quiet  room  was  stretched  in 
an  attitude  of  languid  repose  upon  the  sofa  as  they 
entered,  but  probably  in  deep  meditation.  When, 
however,  he  discovered  who  had  intruded  into  his 
season  of  reveries,  he  arose  with  a  face  all  beaming 
with  smiles,  and  took  the  little  extended  hand  in 
his  own  and  placing  an  arm  about  his  visitor  lifted 
him  with  ease  into  a  chair  close  by. 

99 


100  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  Now,  Ella,  you  may  go  and  give  Rover  that 
plate  of  chicken  bones  you  saved  for  '  some  hun- 
gr}'  dog,'  for  he  above  all  others  deserves  it." 

Here  was  a  happy  home. 

"  There  was  always  sunshine  at  the  parsonage," 
Willie  would  say.  If  clouds  ever  came  they  were 
so  eifectually  concealed  that  they  never  fell  upon 
another.  The  brightest  spot  on  earth — the  place 
more  to  be  coveted  than  palaces  or  posts  of  honor 
— is  the  peaceful,  happy  home,  the  nucleus  around 
which  fond  hearts  are  gathered,  where  the  com- 
pact of  love  remains  unbroken  only  as  death  comes 
and  steals  away  a  link  of  the  golden  chain  that 
binds  fond  hearts  together. 

"  Is  not  Phebe  here?"  Willie  asked  after  a  few 
moments  conversation. 

*'  O  no ;  she  did  not  remain  with  us  many 
hours  ;  but  she  is  not  far  away,"  replied  Mr.  Ernest, 
pleasantly.  "  I  will  tell  you  about  her.  There  is 
a  lady  boarding  at  the  hotel,  an  invalid,  I  believe, 
who  has  come  to  our  village,  as  gossip  tells  us,  after 
health, — happiness,  rather,  as  I  believe,  for  she 
seems  very  sad  at  times.  I  have  called  on  her 
often,  and  at  one  visit  she  expressed  an  earnest 
wish  for  some  one  to  read  to  her.  I  thought  of 
Phebe  at  once,  and  when  she  came  to  us  yesterday 
morning  and  told  her  story,  of  which  we  were  not 
wholly  ignorant,  I  thought  nothing  could  have 
been  more  apropos^  and  so  I  went  over  there  with 
her.  The  lady  seemed  much  pleased,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  Phebe  will  be  very  happy  there." 

*'  I  think  I  must  have  seen  her  when  I  was  com- 
ing," interrupted  Willie.  "A  lady  passed  me  in 
the  hotel  carriage  who  had  a  sad,  pensive  look  ;  1 
am  sure  it  was  she." 


AN    UPPER    ROOM    IN    THE    HOTEL.  101 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right,  for  she  rides 
out  every  day.  I  wouder,  however,  that  Phebe  does 
not  take  the  opportunity  to  run  over  here  for  a 
moaient." 

But  she  did  not. 

Willie  stayed  longer  than  he  first  intended,  hop- 
ing to  see  her  again^  but  finally  started  for  the 
store  on  his  errand,  passing  the  place  where  she 
had  found  her  new  home  without  even  catching  a 
glimpse  of  her,  although  he  sought  diligently  to 
do  so.  Had  he  known  that  she  was  then  engaged 
in  penning  a  long  sisterly  letter  to  him  he  would  not 
have  been  so  thoroughly  wretched  all  that  day  and 
the  next. 

It  was  some  consolation,  however,  that  Fanny 
semed  so  much  interested  in  her  now  that  she  was 
away.  She  was  minute  in  her  inquires  on  his  re- 
turn, yet  did  not  appear  quite  pleased  when  told 
that  Phebe  was  only  to  read  to  her  new  mistress. 

"  Worse  and  worse,"  was  her  exclamation,  "  she 
was  good  for  nothing  before,  what  will  she  be  now?" 

"  We  shall  see,"  was  Willie's  quick  reply. 

But  he  was  thinking  how  much  he  would  enjoy 
being  there  to  listen  as  she  read.  He  was  not  mis- 
taken in  regard  to  his  conclusions  about  the  lady 
in  the  carriage.  It  was  Mrs.  Gaylord,  in  whom 
Phebe  had  found  a  friend  and  protector.  She  had 
taken  rooms  at  the  hotel  only  a  short  time  before, 
having  no  other  company  than  a  young  mulatto 
girl  about  Phebe's  age,  who  seemed  devoted  to  her 
mistress,  and  mild  and  affable  to  all,  yet  she  an- 
swered very  few  of  the  questions  that  were  put 
to  her  by  the  inquisitive. 

"  They  had  come  from  Virginnj^,  and  would  go 
back   dare  when  missus   had  got  nuff  of  dis  'ere 


102  THE    MISTRK.SS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

norf,"  was  about  the  extent  of  the  knowledge  ob- 
tained from  "  Tin}'  "  on  an}^  occasion. 

Three  weeks  passed  away  and  Phebe  liad  not 
once  seen  ''dear  Willie."  ]\lr.  Ernest  had  told  her 
of  his  frequent  visits  to  the  parsonage,  and  of  the 
pleasure  that  would  beam  in  his  blue  eyes  as  he 
received  her  letters  from  him  ;  but  no  amount  of 
persuasion  could  prevail  upon  him  to  make  a  visit 
to  the  hotel,  which  was  much  to  Phebe's  disap- 
pointment. She  was  always  bus}'  now.  When 
she  was  tired  of  reading  or  the  lady  of  listening, 
she  was  engaged  with  her  needle. 

"  Young  people  arc  inclined  to  home-sickness 
if  not  employed,"  Mrs.  Gaylord  would  say,  pleas- 
antl}',  and  so  Phebe  was  seldom  idle. 

During  these  seasons  of  occupation  they  had 
talked  much.  Phebe  had  told  her  all  she  knew 
about  her  early  liistor}-,  and  her  listener  had  many 
times  laughed  heartily  at  the  recital,  but  not  a 
word  had  she  ever  spoken  of  her  own  life.  There 
was  a  dark  cloud  resting  upon  her,  it  was  evident, 
for  her  companion  had  often  looked  up  suddenly 
from  her  book  to  see  the  tears  falling  silentl}^  from 
the  calm  eyes,  who  would  brush  them  hurriedly 
away  as  she  said  "  go  on;"  and  Phebe  obeyed.  At 
one  time  she  smiled  \vlien  detected,  and  drying  her 
e^^es  she  said,  mildl}- — 

"  W^hat  is  jealous}^  little  one?  You  have  just 
been  reading  about  it.  What  is  your  definition  of 
the  word  ?" 

"  Willie  would  say  "  an  unjust  suspicion  ;  a  sense 
of  imaginary  wrong  without  proof;' "  answered 
Phebe,  hesitatingly. 

She  laughed  now. 


AN    UPrER    ROOM    IN    THE    HOTEL.  lOo 

"  O  you  little  novice  !  How  far  you  are  behind 
the  times.  That  definition  might  have  done  for 
your  grandmother,  but  it  will  never  do  for  these 
modern  days.  I  will  tell  you,  child,  what  it  is,  or 
what  it  means  now.  It  is  a  wail  of  despair  which 
the  heart  gives  over  the  loss  of  its  dearest  treas- 
ure. The  anguish  of  its  desolation  when  the  fire 
of  love  burns  low ;  the  cry  of  wo  when  it  sees  the 
vacant  chair  in  its  most  secret  chamber,  and  deso- 
lation looks  with  hungry  eyes  out  from  aniougthe 
shadows  of  its  former  trysting  place  !  Does  the 
poor  heart  murmur?  Does  it  put  on  the  sack- 
cloth and  the  sprinkling  of  ashes  ?  Love  is  not 
dead,  but  strayiug,  straying!  This  is  jealousy. 
The  vacation  of  one  heart  for — for — well,  child, 
yoH  know  nothing  about  it,  and  may  you  long  re- 
main in  ignorance." 

She  bowed  her  head  and  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

Phebe  moved  the  ottoman  on  which  she  was  sit- 
ting close  by  the  side  of  the  agitated  lady  and  laid 
her  head  upon  her  knee.  A  bond  of  sympathy 
drew  them  together.  A  chord  had  been  touched  to 
which  the  heart  of  each  vibrated  in  unison.  Deso- 
lation was  creeping  among  the  shadows  in  the 
secret  chamber  of  both  hearts,  and  the  feeble  wail 
of  wo  which  came  from  the  lonely  hearth-stones 
mingled  in  low,  solemn  cadence,  and  they  two 
were  united  by  these  bonds  of  sympathy.  A  soft, 
white  hand  nestled  lovingly  among  the  braids  of 
the  young  girl's  hair  as  the  bowed  head  still  rested 
its  heavy  weight  on  the  lady's  rich  dress,  and  from 
that  moment  a  sweet  confidence  took  possession  of 
them  both. 

Ah  !  there  is  nothing  so  invigorating  and  com- 
forting in  this  ever  changing  life  as  the  sweet  as- 


lOJ:  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

surance  of  reciprocal  affection  in  the  hour  of  des- 
pondency and  gloom.  A  mother's  kiss,  a  father's 
fond  caress,  soon  dries  the  tear  and  soothes  the 
pain  of  childhood,  and  can  it  be  tliat  their  power 
grows  less  towards  the  children  of  accumulated 
years  ? 

"  Did  I  speak  bitterly  just  now;  my  child?"  the 
lady  asked,  after  a  long  silence.  "  I  hope  I  did  not 
frighten  you." 

Phebe  looked  up  into  the  sad  face  that  was  beam- 
ing now  with  a  full  glor}^  of  consolation  as  she 
answered: 

"  O  no;  I  was  not  frightened.  Even  in  my  short 
life  I  have  seen  sorrow,  and  know  well  what  it 
means.  Ever  since  we  have  been  together  I  have 
believed  that  something  troubled  you,  and  it  has 
made  me — " 

"  Made  you  what,  my  child  ?" 

"  Made  me  love  you,  O  may  I  do  this  ?  Will 
you  let  little  Phebe  creep  into  3'our  heart  and  find 
a  resting  place  there  ?  O  Mrs.  Gaylord,  I  am  so 
lonely!  Nobody  but  Willie — and  he  is  lost  to  me 
now." 

The   large  eyes    were  gazing  with   their  far-off, 

mysterious  look,  which  Willie  had  so  often  watched 

with  a  tremor   of  apprehension   in  his  heart ;  but 

ut   there   were   no   tears  in  them.     The  wail  was 

from  the  secret  chamber,  and  the  lady  recognized  it. 

"Yes,  dear,"  was  her  answering  refrain.  "You 
shall  nestle  cosily  in  this  poor  quivering  heart  if 
you  desire  it.  I  was  once  a  lonely  orphan  like 
yourself,  and  I  pined  for  a  love  I  could  not  find. 
It  is  dreadful — this  chilling  desolation  of  life.  At 
twenty  I  married,  and  was  alone  no  longer.  My 
yearning    heart  was    satisfied,  not    because  of  the 


"1 


"  O,   Mrs.  Gaylord,   I  am  so  lonely.' 


AN    UPPER    ROOM    IN    THE    HOTEL.  105 

luxury  that  surrounded  me,  or  the  honors  with 
which  I  was  crowned  as  the  bride  of  the  rich  young 
southerner.  No,  no.  Sweeter  by  far  than  all  of 
this  was  the  assurance  that  I  was  loved.  That  was 
many  years  ago,  when  my  face  was  fair  and  my 
cheeks  covered  with  bloom.  It  is  over  now,  and 
with  my  youth  and  beauty  went  the  love  which  was 
more  precious  than  all.  His  hair  has  lost  its  glossy 
hue  and  his  step  its  elastic  bound  ;  but  for  these 
my  heart  has  suffered  no  reaction,  3'et  it  bears  to- 
day the  scars  of  many  wounds.  Some  are  not  3'et 
healed,  and  memory  often  rends  them  anew  until 
the  tears  ivill  come  trickling  through  the  torn  fis- 
sures. But  I  must  not  grieve  you,  my  child.  The 
world  calls  me  happy,  for  it  penetrates  not  the 
covering  that  my  proud  spirit  has  thrown  over  all, 
and  I  am  willing  it  should  be  deceived.  I  came  to 
this  quiet  village  to  gain  strength  to  endure  ;  when 
I  have  accomplished  my  object  I  shall  return  to 
my  Virginia  home.  It  is  a  bright  spot  to  the 
looker  on,  full  of  plenty  and  repose  for  one  whose 
soul  has  power  to  take  them  in  ;  and  to  this  home, 
my  sweet  comforter,  I  would  take  you." 

Phebe  started. 

"  Smother  that  refusal  in  those  bewitching  e3^es, 
for  I  shall  take  none  of  it,"  she  laughed.  "  You 
have  just  pleaded  for  my  love.  What  good  under 
the  sun  will  it  do  you  when  hundreds  of  miles  are 
piled  up  between  us  ?  No,  no.  We  need  each 
other.  The  days  we  have  been  together  have  made 
you  a  necessity  to  me.  Do  not  answer  me  now," 
she  continued,  gently  placing  her  white  hand  over 
the  lips  of  her  companion,  as  she  saw  them  move 
for  utterance.  "  Take  a  few  more  days  to  think 
of  it.     We  have  plenty  of  time.     Talk  to  me  now 


10()  THE    MISTRESS   OK    ROSEDALE. 

about  this  Willie,  of  whom  3011  have  spoken.  You 
did  not  tell  me  that  3'ou  loved  him,  hut  is  it  not  so, 
my  child?" 

"  Yes,  I  love  him  more  and  better  than  any  one 
else.  He  is  a  poor  cripple,  four  years  older  than  I, 
and  we  have  been  together  everj^  da}-  since  his 
father  brought  me  to  him.  His  mother  loved  us 
both,  and  when  she  was  about  to  die,  she  gave  him 
to  me,  and  told  me  never  to  forget  or  forsake  him. 
How  can  I  leave  him  to  go  with  j^ou  ?  He  has  been 
such  a  dear  l^rother  to  me  for  so  mau}^  j-ears  ;  j'oti 
would  lo\e  him,  too,  I  am  sure,  if  3'ou  knew  him 
as  well  as  I.'' 

"  How^  your  cheeks  glow,  little  enthusiast  !  Now 
let  me  ask,  is  your  hero  drawn  by  a  dog  usually?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  sure  3'ou  must  have  seen  him  dur- 
ing some  of  3^our  rides  for  he  has  come  to  the  vil- 
lage often  since  I  have  been  here." 

"  I  have  met  him  only  twice,  but  even  these 
faint  glimpses  into  his  peaceful  face  takes  awa}- 
ni}^  wonder  at  your  heart's  bestowal.  It  was  pity 
that  caused  me  to  notice  him  and  long  for  another 
beam  from  the  liquid  eyes,  and  now^  that  I  know 
who  he  is  I  can  but  feel  hurt  that  you  have  not  in- 
vited him  to  our  rooms.  It  would  do  me  good  I 
know  to  study  that  character  and  learn  resignation 
from  its  teachings." 

"  ]\Iay  I  ?  O — you  do  not  know  how^  much  I 
thank  you  !  I  will  go  this  very  day  to  the  parson- 
age, with  your  permission,  to  tell  him.  He  may  be 
there,  w^hen  it  is  cooler,  to  hear  from  me  ;  and  //I 
could  meet  him  !" 

"  Did  I  not  say  that  it  w^as  i/zy  wish  to  study 
him  for  sake  of  the  good  it  might  do  me  ?"  and  she 
kissed  the  glowing  cheek  of  the  young  girl  with  a 


AN    UPPER    ROOM    IN    THE    HOTEL.  107 

passion  unusual  to  her.  "  Then  go  at  once  if  you 
hope  to  see  him,  but  hasten  back  for  I  am  too  sel- 
fish to  permit  you  to  remain  long  away.  It  is 
lonely,  darling,  and  I  cannot  understand  how  I 
ever  lived  without  you." 

"  You  are  so  good  !"  and  Phebe  pressed  the  soft 
caressing  hand  to  her  trembling  lips. 

Nothing  is  more  sweet  than  to  be  guided  into 
this  realm  of  thought  by  the  precious  foretaste  of 
the  love  that  awaited  her  when  the  end  should  be 
reached.  She  had  gone  out  into  the  darkness  ex- 
pecting nothing  but  chilliness  and  gloom,  but  in- 
stead she  was  walking  '"  by  the  side  of  still  waters  " 
and  there  was  freshness  and  beauty  all  along  the 
way.  Still  a  portentous  cloud  was  floating  in  the 
clear  blue  of  her  gilded  sky,  for  how  could  she 
ever  leave  Willie  to  go  v/ith  Mrs.  Gaylord  to  her 
southern  home  ?  The  weeks  were  rapidly  passing, 
and  when  the  hot  summer  da3^s  had  all  flitted  away 
there  would  come  a  change,  and  her  life  had  re- 
ceived so  many  already!  "  Where  would  the  next 
one  take  her?"  As  she  stepped  in  front  of  the 
mirror  for  a  moment  a  smile  of  satisfaction  stole 
over  her  young  face.  The  new  hat  Airs.  Gaylord 
had  purchased  for  her  was  very  becoming,  as  that 
lady  had  asserted,  and  she  thought  how  it  would 
please  Willie  to  see  her  looking  so  well.  He  had 
often  lamented  during  the  last  two  years  that  it 
was  not  in  his  power  to  procure  these  little  luxu- 
ries, and  she  went  on  her  way  with  a  happy  heart. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  OPENING   OF  A  NEW  LIFE. 

"  And  whether  we  be  afflicted,  it  is  for  our  con- 
solation and  salvation,  which  is  effectual  for  the 
enduring  of  the  same  sufferings  which  we  also  suf- 
fer ;  or  whether  we  be  comforted  it  is  for  our  con- 
solation ;  for  as  all  hearts  suffer,  all  have  the  power 
of  consolation." 

"  ]\Irs.  Ga3'lord  had  suffered,  and  out  of  the  sad 
experience  of  her  eventful  life  had  come  the  power 
to  administer  to  others."  Such  was  Phebe's 
thought  when  on  her  way  to  the  parsonage,  which 
stood  in  the  suburbs  of  the  village  surrounded  by 
its  fresh  green  lawn  that  had  always  appeared  so 
winning  to  the  lovers  of  beauty,  and  peaceful  to 
the  seeker  after  "  consolation." 

]\Ir.  Ernest  also  knew  how  to  bestow  this  gift  on 
the  weary  heart.  His  earl}'  da3's  had  not  been 
filled  with  the  bright  things  that  rightfully  belong 
to  childhood,  and  his  after  years  were  those  of  toil 
and  strugglings.  He  understood  well  how  to  ap- 
ply the  S3anpathies  so  consoling  to  those  whose 
feet  are  torn  with  the  thorns  b}'  the  way. 

Our  little  pedestrian  was  walking  away  from 
one  minister  of  comfort  to  another  who  was  equally 
skilled,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
she  could  keep  her  air}^  feet  down  upon  the  well- 
beaten   track  which   ran    along   by  the  side  of  the 

108 


THE   OPENING   OF   A   NEW   LIFE.  109 

broad  highway  to  the  pleasant  home  of  the  village 
pastor,  where  she  hoped  to  find  Willie  and  extend 
to  him  Mrs.  Gaylord's  pressing  invitation.  Mr. 
Kruest  had  told  her  that  he  usually  came  in  the 
early  morning  or  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and 
now  the  sun  was  fast  sinking  down  behind  the 
western  clouds.  There  might  be  a  storm  approach- 
ing, for  the  breezes  were  fresh  and  cool,  and  she 
could  but  think  how  the  ripples  were  sweeping 
around  the  "  sand-bar  "  and  lifting  the  broad  lilly- 
pads  among  the  rushes  not  far  out  from  where  the 
pleasant  row-boat  was  fastened  to  the  old  oak  tree. 
Should  she  ever  glide  in  the  little  boat  over  the 
lovely  blue  waters  again  ?  And  then,  when  the 
stern  old  winter  had  thrown  his  coverlet  of  ice 
across  its  throbless  bosom,  when  the  lilies  were  all 
asleep  in  their  cozy  beds,  what  delightful  rides  she 
and  Willie  had  enjoyed  on  its  smooth  surface  as 
Lloyd  Hunter  drew  them  on  his  large  comfortable 
sled.  Was  all  this  gone  forever?  She  reached 
the  door,  and  as  no  one  was  in  sight,  stopped  a 
moment  while  her  thoughts  went  on. 

Willie  was  not  there,  for  his  visit  had  been  made 
in  the  morning. 

"  I  am  going  by  there  to-morrow. '^ 

Phebe's  eyes  brightened. 

"  May  /  go  with  you  ?  Mrs.  Gaylord  will  not 
let  me  walk  so  far,  it  not  being  '  lady-like,'  "  she 
smiled.  "  She  has  invited  him  to  our  rooms,  and 
I  am  so  anxious." 

"Certainly,  my  dear;  but  be  all  ready,  for  I 
have  an  engagement  at  nine,  eight  miles  away." 

There  had  been  no  need  for  this  last  suggestion, 
for  Phebe  felt  quite  sure  that  with  such  a  prospect 
before  her  she  could  not  sleep  at  all.     Still,  after 


110  THR   MISTRKvSS   OF    ROSRDALE. 

talking  the  matter  over  with  Mrs.  Gaylord,  and 
getting  her  consent  for  the  proposed  visit,  her 
heart  lelt  a  reaction  at  the  thonght  of  again  meet- 
ing Fanny.  It  seemed  long  since  she  had  been 
there,  and  the  partition  wall  which  had  divided 
them  while  still  together,  had  not  been  lowered  by 
a  single  act,  and  now  reall}-  appeared  more  form- 
idable than  ever  when  viewed  at  snch  a  distance. 
How  conld  she  ever  meet  her? 

When  the  morning  snn  sent  his  bright  beams 
into  her  window  she  sprang  from  her  bed  with  the 
qnestion  still  nnanswered. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Gaylord,  putting 
her  head  in  at  tlie  door  at  that  ver}'  moment. 

Phebe  was  surprised.  Seldom  did  the  lady  leave 
her  room  before  all  of  the  rest  had  breakfasted. 

"  O,  3'ou  needn't  look  so  wonderingl}'  at  me," 
she  continued,  laughing.  "  I  only  thought  I  would 
tell  you  to  put  on  3'our  new  white  dress,  as  it  is 
such  a  love!}-  morning,  and  then  I  want  you  to 
appear  3^our  best,  for  I  know  he  will  appreciate  it," 
and  she  was  gone. 

''  Well  does  she  know  how  to  be  a  comforter," 
thought  Phebe. 

How  well  she  remembered  at  that  momerit  the 
last  walk  she  had  with  Willie  down  by  the  little 
pond,  and  his  mournful  wail  of  desolation  as  they 
talked  of  his  lonely  future  without  her ! 

The  bell  sounded  along  the  hall  telling  all  who 
desired  an  early  breakfast  that  it  was  now  read}^, 
so  hastening  with  her  toilet,  she  opened  the  dooi 
leading  to  Mrs.  Gaylord's  room,  and  to  her  sur- 
prise found  her  also  read}^  to  go  with  her. 

"  I  have  had  a  new  thought,"  she  said  gaily. 
"  and  have   ordered  the  carriage.     We  will  go  to- 


THE   OPENING   OE   A   NEW   LIKE.  Ill 

gether  and  take  him  out  for  a  little  airing.  Rover, 
I  have  no  doubt,  will  be  much  obliged  to  be  ex- 
cused for  one  day.  Two  miles  and  a  half  is  a  pretty 
long  road  for  such  a  brute  to  draw  so  heavy  a 
load." 

Phebe  made  no  answer,  for  she  was  a  little  dis- 
appointed. She  had  anticipated  the  walk  back  and 
the  uninterrupted  talk  more  than  she  had  herself 
been  aware  of. 

"  Do  you  not  like  my  arrangement  ?"  queried  the 
lady,  artlessly. 

Phebe  expressed  much  pleasure  at  the  prospect, 
and,  come  to  think  of  it,  "  the  new  plan  was  pref- 
erable, as  it  would  take  away  all  embarrassment  in 
the  meeting  with  Fanny." 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  the  two  were 
ready,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  halted  before  the 
parsonage  to  report  the  change.  Then  away  they 
rolled  on  their  delicate  errand  of  pleasure  and 
comfort. 

Never  had  Phebe  looked  so  fresh  and  pretty  as 
now.  Her  plain  hat  of  white  straw  sat  jauntily  on 
her  heavy  braids  of  jetty  hair,  from  beneath  which 
her  dark  eyes  shone  with  a  new  brilliancy,  her 
dress,  about  which  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  been  so  par- 
ticular, set  off  her  well  rounded  form  to  the  best 
advantage,  and  as  she  sat  by  the  richly  attired 
lady  no  one  would  have  imagined  that  the  two 
were  mistress  and  menial.  Some  such  thoughts 
must  have  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  young 
girl,  for  her  cheeks  glowed,  and  an  air  of  worth  if 
not  superiority,  sat  with  easy  dignity  upon  her 
every  movement. 

"There  he  is,"  she  exclaimed,  as  tney  came  in 
sight  of  the  white  cottage  among  the  maples.  "  He 
is  waiting  for  us."  ' 


112  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"Hurry  Frank,"  said  the  lady,  "lie  does  not  yet 
recognize  j^ou  Phebe." 

"  Willie,  dear  brother  Willie  !"  she  called  out  as 
the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  gate,  and  in  a 
moment  she  had  darted  down  by  his  side,  and 
throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  said  cheerily  : 
^'  Come,  Willie,  Airs.  Ga3dord  wants  to  take  3'ou 
out  for  a  ride  !  It  is  lovely,  and  Rover  can  have  a 
rest!"  His  face  crimsoned  as  he  realized  that 
strangers  were  witnessing  their  joyful  meeting. 
Unperceived  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  approached,  and 
holding  out  her  hand  said  pleasantl}^ :  "  Phebe 
was  so  selfish  that  she  was  going  to  have  3'OU  all 
to  herself  but  I  concluded  to  defeat  her  plans. 
Will  3'ou  be  so  kind  as  to  go  with  us  and  spend 
the  da3^  at  our  rooms?  We  will  try  to  make  it 
very  pleasant  for  3'ou."  All  this  was  said  with  so 
much  tenderness  that  it  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble for  the  poor  bo3-  to  refuse. 

"Let  me  get  3^our  hat,  for  I  see  that  3'ou  are  all 
ready  as  usual,"  and  Phebe  forgetting  her  dread 
of  the  "  frigid  Fanny "  rushed  into  the  house, 
meeting  that  important  personage  on  the  very 
threshold. 

"  Good  morning  "  was  her  cneerfui  salutation  ; 
"  we  are  going  to  take  Willie  awa3'  from  3^ou  for  a 
few  hours,  and  I  have  come  for  his  hat." 

"  He  has  not  been  to  breakfast  3'et,"  was  the 
chilling  reply.  "  I  think  you  had  better  wait  and 
give  him  time  to  eat." 

'  Perhaj)s  it  would  be  better,"  ejaculated  Phebe 
as  she  passed  her,  hat  in  hand. 

"  In  the  meantime  would  3'OU  not  like  to  go 
with  me  down  our  pleasant  walk  to  the  pond?" 
asked  Phebe,  as  she  came  back  where  Mrs.  Gay- 


THE   OPENING   OF   A    NEW   LIFE.  113 

lord  and  Willie  were  conversing  familiarly.  The 
lady  cheerfully  consented  and  they  were  soon  out 
of  sight  among  the  trees  that  skirted  the  meadow 
brook.  When  they  returned,  Willie  was  sitting 
by  the  side  of  Frank  and  his  usually  pale  face  was 
flushed  with  excitement. 

"  If  you  like  we  will  go  around  by  the  old  town 
road,"  said  the  driver  as  the  rest  of  his  company 
became  seated.  "  It  will  be  two  miles  farther  back 
but  it  is  cool  and  shady."  "  All  right!"  and  the 
happy  trio  were  rapidly  borne  away.  Phebe  had 
told  her  friend  how  her  "dear  brother"  became  so 
helpless  and  his  sensitiveness  in  regard  to  it,  and 
had  more  than  ouce  seen  the  tears  of  sjmipathy 
glisten  in  the  fine  eves  of  the  listener  at  the  nar- 
ration. 

"  His  feet  and  limbs  below  the  knees  have  not 
grown  since  he  was  a  baby,"  she  had  said;  "  and 
of  course  they  cannot  bear  the  body,  which  is  well 
developed.  He  can  creep  about  very  well,  but  is 
unwilling  that  any  one  outside  of  his  own  home 
should  see  him.  When  a  mere  child  he  has  told 
me  his  manner  of  locomotion  was  to  sit  and  hitch 
himself  about,  which  gave  him  the  appellation 
among  the  boys  of '  hitch  Kvans  '  which  so  morti- 
fied his  pride  that  he  would  not  appear  among 
them." 

"  Poor  boy!"  was  the  low  response.  Now,  how- 
ever, Mrs.  Gaylord  chatted  pleasantly  with  him 
about  the  beauties  of  the  landscape — the  fading 
glories  of  the  passing  summer  and  of  her  own 
home  in  the  sunny  south,  until  as  he  said  after,  "I 
forgot  that  I  was  a  mere  cypher  amid  it  all." 
At  last  they  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  as  Frank 
with  his  strong  arms  set  him  on  the  broad  winding 


114  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

stairway  he  scrambled  up  to  the  top  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  laughing  as  he  did  so  because  Phebe 
would  wait  for  his  slow  movements  rather  than 
trip  forward  with  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  wanted  to  see 
if  Tiny  had  all  things  in  readiness. 

It  vvas  a  delightful  day  to  them  all.  Dinner 
was  served  in  the  upper  room,  and  Phebe  thought 
as  she  watched  the  glowing  face  of  her  brother  that 
it  was  never  before  half  so  beautiful  as  now.  Was 
it  because  Phebe  was  ap-ain  near  him?  Or  had 
the  kind  words  and  suggestions  of  his  new  friend 
aroused  energies  of  which  before  he  was  not  con- 
scious? It  was  true  that  every  moment  had  been 
filled  with  reading  and  conversation  and  it  was  all 
so  new  to  Willie  !  "It  is  a  fact,"  continued  Mrs. 
Ga3'lord  after  Tiny  had  taken  off  the  last  dish 
from  the  table  ;  "  that  many  with  far  less  brains 
and  more  iuefficient  than  yourself  have  filled  im- 
portant places  in  the  world's  histor3^  With  exer- 
cise I  do  not  see  why  3'our  body  should  not  become 
sturdy  and  robust.  I  have  a  friend  in  Boston  who 
has  a  large  clothing  store  and  manufactures  his 
own  goods,  and  the  great  object  of  insisting  upon 
your  company  to-day  was  to  tell  you  that  I  will,  if 
you  desire  it,  bring  your  case  to  his  notice,  and  if 
he  favors  my  suggestions  will  let  you  know  all 
about  it." 

"O — if  I  could!"  came  from  his  overflowing 
heart.  "  If  I  could  only  do  something!  I  have 
always  been  told  that  it  was  no  use  for  me  to  exert 
myself  for  I  was  helpless,  and  I  had  settled  down 
as  far  as  it  was  possible  on  that  supposition." 

"  But  you  are  not !  Your  present  skill  with  the 
needle  has  its  advantages  and  in  a  very  short  time 
you  would  be  independent  at  least.     Labor  brings 


THE    OPENING    OF    A    NEW    LIFE.  115 

contentment  and  with  it  the  years  wonld  not  pass 
so  laggardly."  Phebe  had  come  np  behind  him 
and  was  smoothing  his  brown  cnrls  with  her  gen- 
tle hand,  and  reaching  up  his  trembling  one  he 
clasped  hers  tightly  as  he  asked : 

"  Phebe,  more  than  sister,  can  I  do  this?  Will 
the  time  ever  come  when  I  shall  cease  to  eat  the 
bread  of  dependence  ?  Tell  me  Phebe,  for  your 
words  have  ever  given  me  strength  ;  am  I  truly 
only  the  long  withered  stalk  you  hold  as  the  em- 
blem of  ni3\self  ?" 

"  No,  Willie  !  Believe  what  Mrs.  Gaylord  has 
said  and  grow  firm  !  You  can — you  will  !  I  feel 
it  in  my  heart  you  'will  go  up  the  stairs'  and 
leave  some  at  the  foot  who  do  not  now  expect  to 
stay  there  !  I  thought  of  it  to-da}^  and  determined 
not  to  let  you  go  ahead  of  me,  and  so  kept  close 
by  your  side."  She  laughed  while  he  warmly 
pressed  the  hand  he  had  been   holding. 

"  You  see,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gaj'lord,  "  Phebe 
and  I  have  talked  a  little  about  this  but  I  did  not 
mention,  even  to  her,  the  plans  which  for  more 
than  two  weeks  I  have  been  maturinof.  To-mor- 
row  we  will  go  to  the  city,  Phebe  and  I,  and  see 
what  can  be  done,  and  if  j-ou  will  come  to  us  on 
the  following  day  all  can  be  decided." 

It  zaas  decided !  Mr.  Bancroft  of  Boston  would 
do  well  by  him  ;  take  him  into  his  own  home  and 
see  that  his  wants  were  attended  to  until  he  had 
become  efficient  in  the  business,  and  then  give  him 
a  place  in  his  establishment  if  he  proved  himself 
worthy. 

"  Worthy?"  exclaimed  Phebe  ;  "  he  is  noble — he 
will  be  all  you  can  desire !" 


116  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  The  hearts  of  young  ladies  are  not  alwa3^s  re- 
liable in  busiurss  relations,"  replied  the  gentleman 
with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  bright  eye. 
"  However,  Mrs.  Gaylord,  upon  3'our  maturer  judg- 
ment I  will  try  him,  for  reall}^  you  have  excited 
in  me  an  interest  for  the  young  man  ;  and  I  see  no 
reason  why  he  cannot  be  a  master  workman.  / 
began  life  1)}'  coiling  my  feet  under  me  on  the 
bench,  and  I  could  have  done  it  just  as  well  had 
they  not  been  incased  in  No.  9's.  He  laughed. 
"  His  Rover  will  be  just  the  thing ;  he  can  soon  be 
taught  to  bring  his  master  to  his  work  and  return 
to  his  kennel  for  protection.  And  by  the  way,  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  see  that  /n's  animal  has  an 
'  ordinance '  of  its  own.  They  kill  dogs  here  so 
promiscuously^" 

"  /  had  thought  of  that  and  concluded  to  set 
Pompy  at  work  training  another  for  his  use  as 
soon  as  I  return  home.  You  know  he  is  famous  at 
such  work." 

Willie  received  the  report  of  their  successful 
mission  in  the  city  with  almost  ecstatic  joy.  "Can 
it  be  true?"  he  thought.  There  would  be  difficul- 
ties ;  any  amount  of  pride  must  be  overcome — 
shrinking  sensitiveness  subdued — but  he  would 
try !  To  have  aspirations — anticipations  of  suc- 
cess— what  more  could  he  desire? 

In  three  days  Mrs.  Gaylord  would  go  with  Wil- 
lie to  his  new  home  and  Phebe  was  to  accompany 
them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  ROSEDALE." 

Come  with  me,  gentle  reader,  to  the  sunny  south, 
to  the  land  of  orange  groves,  where  the  air  is 
sweetest  and  the  sky  is  bluest;  where  nature's  lyre 
does  not  of  necessity  get  unstrung  or  lose  her 
summer  melodies  as  winter  breaks  in  with  harsh, 
discordant  notes  to  jar  the  ear  and  chill  the  rich, 
warm  blood.  Come  to  the  land  of  flowers,  of  poe- 
try, of  dreams.  Hard  seems  the  fate  which  thrusts 
a  "  serpent  into  every  paradise,"  in  whose  trail 
death  follows,  withering  up  its  freshness  and 
throwing  a  net-work  of  decay  over  its  richest  beau- 
ties. Yet  such  is  the  intruder  blighting  many 
homes  in  the  cold  regions  of  the  bustling  north, 
as  well  as  in  the  clime  where  the  sweet  singers  of 
the  faded  woods  delight  to  pour  out  their  winter's 
songs.     Alas !  that  it  should  be  so. 

"  Why,  my  Lily-Bell,  how  faded  you  look  this 
morning  !  Worse  than  the  rose  you  wore  in  your 
hair  last  night.  Now  let  me  wager  something. 
What  shall  it  be?  Ah!  my  yesterday's  letter 
against  your's  of  yesterday,  also,  that  I  can  divine 
the  cause.  Shall  it  be  ?  Ah !  that  smile  !  It  was 
like  the  morning  zephyrs  sporting  with  the  with- 
ered petals  of  my  '  Lily-Bell.'  Let  me  kiss  back 
its  beauty,  or  breath  some  of  my  exuberance  into 
it,  which  seems  so  worthless  in  its  prodigality,"  and 

117 


118  THE   MISTREvSS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

the  lively  little  lady  bent  over  the  invalid's  chair 
and  kissed  over  and  over  again  the  brow  of  her 
companion. 

"  There  !  there  !  Look  quickly  !  Two  little 
rose  leaves  of  unquestionably  pinkish  hue  are  flut- 
tering in  close  proximity  to  those  lovely  dimples. 
But  they  have  flitted  away  again.  What  a  pity 
that  beauty  is  so  fleeting." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  despair,  dear  Grace, 
of  charming  one  into  life  who  has  been  so  long 
dead.  The  task  would  be  more  congenial  to  your 
taste,  I  imagine,  to  roll  me  up  and  la}-  me  away  in 
your  casket  of  precious  relics  for  memory  to  grow 
sentimental  over  in  future  j^ears.  Why  do  j-ou 
not  do  it,  la  Petite/  Own  that  yow  are  weary,  as 
the  rest  do,  and  thrust  me  out  of  sight." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  I  have  no  passion  for  must}'  relics. 
Come,  let  us  awa}-  to  the  drawing-room.  It  is  nearly 
time  for  breakfast." 

"  Are  3'ou  aware,  cousin  mine,  of  the  compli- 
ments 3'ou  have  been  showering  upon  me,  '  fading, 
withering,'  etc.?  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  quite  un- 
willing, under  their  pressure,  to  appear  before  our 
brilliant  guests,  understanding  now  the  full  array 
of  blemishes  of  which  I  am  the  possessor." 

''  I  was  only  prattling,  Lilj^-Bell.  Nothing  hu- 
man could  be  purer  or  sweeter  than  that  face  of 
yours.  Let  me  picture  it,"  and  kneeling  on  the 
carpet  before  her  companion,  she  took  a  little  white 
hand  and  pressed  it  lovingly  in  her  own. 

"No,  no;  do  not  call  me  silly.  There,  keep 
that  smile.  That  little  mouth  was  just  made  for 
such  glowing  sunbeams  to  play  about.  How  I 
would  like  to  tear  away  those  lines  of  sadness 
which  so  mar  its  exquisite  formation,  and  bring 


ROSEDALE.  119 

back  the  soft  tints  to  those  lips.  Not  that  it  would 
enhance  its  perfection,  but  it  would  denote  health 
of  body  and  heart.  Then  those  eyes,  so  dark, 
deep  and  fathomless !  I  cannot  look  into  their 
depths  without  a  feeling  of  purity  and  holiness 
stealing  into  my  soul,  as  though  I  had  taken  a 
peep  into  the  land  of  spirits  where  there  is  no  sin. 
What,  a  tear?  Forgive  me,  darling.  I  should 
have  known  better.  I  too  often  pelt  the  door  of 
your  heart's  supulcher  with  the  pebbles  of  my 
thoughtless  volubility.  Thank  you  for  that  look 
of  forgiveness.  Now  let  me  depart  before  I  sin 
again.  But,  just  a  moment.  Whenever  I  plant 
my  tripping  feet  on  sacred  ground,  bid  me  hush^ 
begone.  Check  me,  dearest.  I  want  to  be  your 
sunbeam,  not  the  east  wind  that  blows  up  dark 
clouds  ;  will  you  ?" 

"  I  will  let  you  act  and  talk  naturally.  I  like  it. 
If  at  times  you  discover  tears,  it  need  not  frighten 
or  silence  you.  They  seem  as  necessary  to  my 
existence  as  the  rain  to  the  summer  flowers.  Now 
begone ;  /  shall  go  out  among  the  zephyrs  awhile 
that  they  may  freshen  up  these  '  withered  petals.' 
Do  not  mention  me  below.  Good  bye,"  and  Lillian, 
kissing  her  hand  to  her  companion,  glided  through 
the  open  door  and  away  out  of  sight. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  there  could  not  be 
found  in  all  Georgia  a  more  charming  home  retreat 
from  the  cares  and  tumults  of  the  bustling  world 
than  the  home  of  the  Belmonts. 

"  Rosedale  "  was  what  its  name  would  seem  to 
designate,  a  garden  of  roses.  The  house  was  built 
around  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square  in  the  cen- 
ter of  which  a  fountain  sent  up  its  sparkling  jets 
above  the   cool  twinkling    shadows    of  the   trees 


120       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

which  surrounded  it,  up  into  the  sunlight,  catch- 
ing its  rainbow  tints  and  falling  back  into  the  mar- 
ble basin  beneath,  with  a  cool  trickling  sound  that 
charmed  the  wear}^  and  enervated  into  quiet  and 
repose,  lulling  the  restless  spirit  into  dreams  of 
future  peace  and  rest.  The  open  side  looked  to- 
wards the  north,  and  as  far  as  the  e3'e  could  reach 
tlie  most  charming  landscape  was  extended.  A 
thoroughly  cultivated  cotton  field  was  near  by,  but 
it  wound  around  to  the  right  and  was  lost  sight  of 
behind  the  orange  grove.  On  the  left  the  white 
rude  huts  of  the  negroes  were  just  discernable.  On 
— on,  the  distant  hills  kept  rising,  over  which  the 
blue  sk}'  seemed  to  hover  lovingl}^  giving  to  the 
bright  green  fields  a  darker  hue,  and  to  the  little 
busy  river  below  the  terrace,  a  robe  of  its  own  soft 
color. 

The  constructor  of  this  beautiful  home  had  been 
sleeping  for  man}'  years  where  the  fir  trees  nestled 
together  and  the  purling  river  sang  all  day  its  rip- 
pling song  as  if  to  hush  to  more  silent  repose  the 
quiet  slumberer.  The  widow,  however,  who  had 
never  laid  aside  her  weeds,  liad  well  maintained 
her  position.  There  was  no  plantation  in  all  that 
region  more  thrifty  or  prosperous  than  this.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  visit  Rosedale,  particularly  now, 
as  Charles,  the  only  son,  had  returned  from  his 
European  tour  as  reputed  heir  and  proprietor  of 
the  beautiful  estate,  and  of  course  the  spacious 
drawing-rooms  were  crowded. 

One  hour  after  Lillian  had  left  her  chamber  she 
was  sitting  alone  in  a  quiet  summer  house  at  the 
foot  of  the  terrace  looking  dreamily  out  upon  the 
landscape,  listlessly  plucking  the  roses  which 
drooped    about  her   and    scattering    their    bright 


ROSED  ALE.  121 

petals  on  the  ground  at  her  feet.  Perhaps  she 
imagined  who  would  look  for  her  there  at  that 
hour,  still  when  the  sound  of  a  footstep  fell  on  her 
ear  she  started  and  her  pale  cheek  flushed  for  a 
moment ;  but  when  George  St.  Clair  entered  she 
smiled  and  extended  her  hand  in  welcome.  He 
took  it  tenderly  in  his  own  and  seated  himself  at 
her  feet. 

"  You  have  carpeted  the  ground  for  me  with 
rose  leaves  which  these  little  hands  have  wantonly 
spoiled,"  he  said  with  his  usual  gallantry.  "  O, 
Lillian,  how  cruel  you  are!" 

"  Do  not  George ;  I  want  to  talk  with  you !  I 
have  spent  a  sleepless  night  trying  to  summon 
suf&cient  resolution  for  this  interview.  I  feel  that 
you  deserve  some  share  of  my  confidence  at  least, 
and  it  is  sweet  to  know  that  after  all  this  strug- 
gling I  can  give  it  to  3^ou." 

"  And  I  shall  be  glad  to  receive  it,  although  I 
have  a  presentiment  that  it  is  my  death  doom  !" 

She  bowed  her  head  and  her  white  lips  touched 
his  forehead.  "  I  love  you,  George,  with  the 
purest  sisterly  affection,  and  in  my  poor  heart 
your  sorrows  will  ever  find  a  sympathetic  response. 
I  feel  that  I  shall  give  you  pain  by  what  I  must  say, 
and  God  knows  how  gladly  I  would  save  you  from 
it  if  it  was  in  my  power.  But  bear  with  me ;  I 
have  long  loved  another !  You  have  surmised  it 
— /  now  confess  it !  I  was  not  yet  fifteen  when  I 
met  and  loved  Pearl  Hamilton.  You  remember 
the  time  I  went  north  to  school?  He  was  a  Phila- 
delphian  by  birth  and  a  nobler,  truer  heart  never 
beat !  Could  you  see  him  George  you  would  not 
blame  me  for  what  I  did  !  I  was  a  child — a  petted, 
spoiled   child  !     My  wishes   had   never  been  dis- 


122  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

puted  aud  why  should  they  be  then?  In  a  very 
few  weeks  I  became  his  wife.  Do  not  look  at  me 
so  wildly  !     It  is  all  true — I  am  a  luife!^^ 

"Lillian,  ivliy  have  you  deceived  the  world  and 
me  so  long?  Why  did  3-ou  not  tell  me  this  three 
years  ago  when  I  returned  from  Europe?  Had 
3^ou  done  so  I  would  have  spared  3'ou  all  of  the 
torment  ni}-  repeated  proffers  of  love  must  have 
caused  ;  and  it  might  have  been  had  I  known  the 
truth  at  that  time  less  bitter  for  me  to-da3\  But 
I  will  not  chide  3'ou."  The  3'oung  man  had  risen 
to  his  feet  while  speaking  and  paced  to  and  fro  the 
full  length  of  the  arbor, 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  she  pleaded  ;  "  I  have 
not  3'et  finished."  He  obeyed.  ''  It  was  not  my 
fault,  George,  that  you  did  not  know  all  at  the 
time,  but  let  me  continue  m3^  narrative.  It  will 
not  detain  you  long.  I  was  married,  not  however 
without  the  approbation  of  my  Aunt,  with  whom  I 
resided.  As  soon  as  it  was  over  a  sudden  fear  took 
possession  of  me.  I  did  not  dare  tell  m3'  mother. 
For  the  first  time  in  all  m3'  life  I  had  acted  with- 
out her  ajDproval,  and  now  I  was  fearful  of  her 
displeasure.  It  came  at  last.  After  much  pursua- 
sion  from  m3^  husband  and  friends  I  told  her  all. 
One  bright  day  when  Pearl  was  absent  from  home 
my  aunt  sent  for  me.  I  obe3'ed  the  summons,  and 
there  met  m3^  mother  after  a  separation  of  more 
than  a  3'ear.  Her  greeting  was  cold,  her  manner 
stern  and  commanding.  It  seems  that  she  had 
been  in  the  cit3^  three  da3^s,  and  during  that  time 
had  accumulated  legal  documents  suf&cient  to 
prove  to  ;;/(f,  at  least,  that  as  neither  of  us  was  of 
age  our  marriage  was  null  and  void.  Her  words 
overpowered  me.     But  I  will  not  picture  the  scene 


ROSEDALE.  128 

that  followed.  I  was  a  child  again  obedient  to  her 
will.  We  left  the  city  before  the  retnrn  of  my 
husband,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since.  I  have 
written  many  letters,  but  have  received  none  in  re- 
turn. Only  once  have  I  heard  that  he  yet  lived. 
My  aunt  wrote  that  he  stood  very  high  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  people  and  remained  true  to  his  boy- 
ish vows.  That  letter  was  not  intended  for  my 
eyes,  but  they  saw  it,  and  my  heart  responded  to 
his  fidelity.  Thus  to-day  you  find  me  what  I  am. 
Now,  tell  me,  George,  do  you  hate  me  for  what  I 
have  done  ?  I  had  not  the  power  to  break  away 
form  the  injunction  laid  upon  me.  My  mother  said 
that  in  time  I  would  not  only  regret  but  forget, 
my  folly,  and  would  thank  her  for  placing  me  in  a 
position  to  marry  some  one  equal  to  myself.  O 
George,  think  of  these  long  years  I  have  carried 
this  aching,  desolate  heart.  My  whole  being  has 
seemed  enervated.  But  this  fresh  proffer  of  your 
love  has  aroused  me.  I  am  a  woman^  and  there  is 
injustice  in  all  this.  You  are  good  and  noble  ;  for 
this  reason  I  have  confided  in  you,  breathed  into 
your  ear  words  that  were  never  before  spoke  by 
me." 

"  Thank  you  !  But,  Lillian,  what  proof  has  your 
aunt  that  he  remains  true  to  his  early  vows  ?  Do 
you  think  any  earthly  power  could  keep  7ne  from 
you  were  you  my  wife  ?  And  yet  you  tell  me  that 
you  have  not  received  one  answer  to  your  many 
letters." 

"  Did  I  not  also  tell  you  that  there  was  injustice 
in  all  this  ?  And  more — I  am  fully  convinced  that 
there  has  been  and  now  is  a  crivtinal  wrong  being 
enacted  of  which  /  am  the  subject," 


12J:  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  It  cannot  be !  O  Lillian !  henceforth  I  am 
your  friend  and  your  brother.  Command  me  at 
all  times,  and  I  am  your  obedient  servant.  Hence- 
forth my  country  only  shall  be  my  bride.  I  will 
wed  her  with  good  faith.  I  will  suffer,  I  will  die 
for  her.  But  you  will  be  my  sister,  Lillian.  Call 
me  brother.  Let  that  appellation,  at  least,  fall 
from  those  sweet  lips  like  the  refreshing  dew,  for 
I  feel  that  my  heart  is  withering,  and  then  I  must 
go.  I  came  to  bid  you  farewell.  New  duties  are 
calling  me,  and  I  am  glad  that  it  is  so." 

"  God  bless  3'ou,  my  brother,"  came  like  low, 
plaintiff  music  to  his  ear. 

For  one  moment  he  held  her  close  to  his  heart, 
and  gazed  into  the  beautiful  eyes  where  a  world  of 
love  and  suffering  lay  hidden  ;  then  imprinting  a 
kiss  upon  her  fair  cheek  fled  from  her  presence. 
He  was  gone. 

For  a  long  time  Lillian  sat  like  one  in  a  dream. 
Could  it  be  ?  Had  the  friend  of  so  many  years 
really  spoken  the  last  farewell  ?  How  much  she 
had  prized  his  love ;  his  demonstrations  of  tender- 
ness ;  and  now  they  were  to  be  hers  no  more.  How 
much  it  had  cost  her  to  sever  this  sparkling  chain 
of  gold  which  the  heart  of  woman  ever  covets, 
God  only  knows.  But  the  v/ork  had  been  accom- 
plished at  last,  and  the  thought  brought  more  of 
relief  with  it  than  pain  after  all.  She  had  pon- 
dered it  so  long  and  shrank  from  its  performance 
until  the  burden  of  her  coming  duty  pressed  heav- 
ily upon  her ;  but  it  was  lifted  now,  and  a  sense  of 
peace  stole  into  her  mind  as  she  realized  the  truth. 
Then  there  came  a  wave  of  apprehension  that  sud- 
denly dashed  its  murky  waters  over  her.  "  What 
would  her  mother  say  ?"     She   had   so  long  been 


ROSEDALK.  125 

the  submissive  cJiiId  in  lier  strength  and  power 
that  it  was  a  marvel  Jiow  she  had  dared  to  loosen 
herself  from  them  or  act  for  once  upon  her  own 
responsibility.  There  was  one  reason  why  that 
mother  had  so  insisted  upon  her  wedding  George 
St.  Clair,  but  the  daughter  had  never  been  able  to 
obtain  it  from  her. 

"  But  I  could  not — O  I  could  not,"  she  exclaimed, 
rising  and  standing  in  the  door  way  of  the  arbor 
as  she  looked  away  down  the  road  where  her  lover 
had  ridden  at  full  speed,  taking  with  him,  as  she 
well  knew,  an  aching  heart,  but  one  not  more 
wretched  than  her  own. 

"  Raphael  made  the  transfiguration  a  subject  for 
his  pencil,  but  died  before  it  was  finished,  and  how 
many  of  us  will  do  the  same  ?  We  begin  life  with 
glowing  tints,  but  the  sombre  colors  are  demanded. 
We  lay  aside  the  brush  as  incapable  of  the  task, 
and  other  hands  interfere  to  spoil  its  designs  or 
destroy  the  first  intention  altogether.  Lillian's 
life  had  opened  with  a  few  glowing  outlines,  but  a 
masterly  hand  had  changed  the  subject,  and  the 
canvas  was  yet  to  receive  its  filling  up,  and  God 
was  marking  the  designs  upon  it  for  her  ;  and, 
discovering  this,  she  bowed  her  head  with  reveren- 
tial awe  before  the  solemn  realization,  and  with  a 
firmer  and  steadier  step  than  had  been  hers  for 
years,  she  walked  to  the  house  and  entered  her 
own  room. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
heart's  secrets  revealed  and  unrevealed. 

"  He — he — he  !  Didn't  Massa  George  make  Spit- 
fire fly,  tho'  ?  Gorry  !  'specks  them  bobolisheuis 
'11  have  to  take  it  now,  no  'stake.     He — he — he  !" 

"  O  you  get  out.  What  you  talk  'bout  bobo- 
lisheuis anyhow  ?  Think  you're  mighty  smart 
nigger,  don't  ye  ?  It's  my  opinion  ye  don't  know 
nothin' — that's  all."  And  Aunt  Lizzy  moved  away 
with  the  air  of  one  who  did  understand  and  utterly 
despised  one  who  was  not  as  fortunate  as  herself, 
as  the  toss  of  her  lofty  turban  perfectly  demon- 
strated. 

"  'Specks  old  woman,  ye'd  jus'  like  to  know  all 
what  dis  nig'  duz.  'Mighty  smart !  He — he — he  ! 
Gals  aint  'speeted  to  know  nothin'  no  how,"  and 
Pete,  who  was  the  especial  favorite  of  his  young 
master,  turned  away  from  his  unappreciative  aud- 
itor with  all  the  dignity  supposed  to  have  been 
handed  over  to  him  with  the  last  suit  of  young 
massa's  cast-off  clothing  in  which  he  was  pomp- 
ously arrayed. 

Just  then  the  soft  folds  of  a  white  dress  peeped 
out  from  behind  the  foliage  of  the  "Prairie  Queen," 
which  scrambled  about  in  native  abandonment 
everywhere  over  the  corridor  on  one  side  of  the 
moss-covered  terrace.  Pete  saw  it  as  it  waved  in 
the  noonday  breeze,  which  was  scarcely  sufficient 

127 


128       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

to  move  a  leaf  or  flower,  so  stealtliil}'  it  came  lad- 
eued  with  its  burden  of  perfume.  Discovering  that 
some  one  was  so  near,  the  astonished  slave  was 
about  to  retreat  in  much  confusion,  when  Grace 
Stanley  stepped  from  behind  the  massive  vine  and 
stood  before  him. 

Evidently  there  had  been  tears  in  her  brilliant 
eyes  that  were  unused  to  weeping,  but  they  had 
succeeded  only  in  leaving  transparent  shadows 
over  their  brightness.  Sad  traces,  to  be  sure,  of 
what  had  been,  as  well  as  presentiments  of  what 
might  be.  Her  soft  cheek  wore  a  deeper  tint  than 
was  usual  to  it,  and  her  long  lashes  drooped  lower, 
casting  a  sombre  shade  beneath  them,  and  that  was 
all.  Yet  the  little  heart,  all  unused  to  sorrow, 
throbbed  beneath  the  pure  white  bodice  with  a 
wound  it  seemingly  had  not  the  power  to  bind  up. 
She  had  come  to  Rosedale  as  free  and  joyous  as 
the  birds  that  flitted  among  the  orange  blossoms 
where  the  zephyrs  were  then  gathering  their  sweets, 
and  the  future  over  which  her  feet  would  gladly 
tread  decked  with  the  brightest  and  sweetest  flow- 
ers, among  which  the  trailing  serpent  had  never 
for  a  moment  showed  his  treacherous  head ;  but 
she  had  found  that  the  blossom  of  hope  will  wither 
and  the  golden  sunshine  fade  ;  and  this  conscious- 
ness had  pierced  her  sensitive  nature  as  a  cruel 
dart,  and  the  pain  had  made  her  cheek  tear-stained 
and  brought  shadows  of  disappointment.  She  had 
met  George  St.  Clair  two  j^ears  before  her  present 
visit,  and  thought  him  the  most  noble  and  true  of 
all  his  sex,  and  who  can  tell  of  the  dreams  that 
came  uninvited  into  her  nightly  visions  as  well  as 
in  her  peaceful  day  reveries?  Can  you,  gentle 
reader  ?     There  comes  a  day  to  us  all  when  the 


heart's  secrets.  129 

kaleidoscope  of  every  heart's  experience  gives  a 
sudden  turn  as  it  presents  to  view  more  complex 
minglings  of  brilliant  colors  and  perplexing  de- 
signs than  has  ever  been  seen  in  any  previous 
whirl,  weird  fancies  through  which  we  are  all 
looking. 

Grace  Stanley  had  been  watching  their  ever 
changing  glow  until  the  brilliant  tints  had 
imprinted  their  rosy  hues  over  every  hope  and 
promise  of  her  life ;  but  on  this  very  morning 
there  had  been  another  turn,  and  the  sombre  shades 
were  now  uppermost.  He  loved  "  Lilly  Bell,"  and 
had  flown  from  her  presence  a  rejected  lover,  but 
without  one  word  of  farewell  to  her.  "  My  coun- 
try shall  henceforth  be  my  bride,"  she  had  heard 
him  say,  and  who  could  tell  what  the  terrible  war 
might  bring  to  them  all.  He  was  gone,  and  this 
fact  alone  was  sufficient  to  sadden  her  future,  still 
"no  one  shall  know  it,"  she  thought  as  she  walked 
across  the  garden  and  stepped  upon  the  moss-cov- 
ered terrace.  "This  hour  shall  be  covered  from 
sight  forever,  even  from  myself."  She  had  grown 
calm  as  she  stood  there  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion just  outside,  and  with  a  faint  smile  flitting 
among  the  sombre  tints  of  sadness  that  were  re- 
treating from  her  pretty  face,  she  bluntly  asked 
the  bewildered  Pete — 

"  What  did  I  hear  you  say  about  Master  George?" 
She  had  drawn  more  closely  the  thick  veil  of  in- 
difference, and  suddenly  her  face  was  wreathed  in 
smiles  as  she  stood  there  looking  into  the  dark, 
perplexed  visage  of  the  scared  negro  boy ;  just  as 
flowers  will  grow  and  thrive  in  beauty  on  the 
graves  where  our  idols  lie  buried. 


l')0       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

"  O  nothin',  Miss  Grace — notiiin',  iiothin'  at  all. 
But  he  did  make  Spit-fire  look  buful,  sartin,  sure. 
Goy}-y!  didn't  sliest*,  tho' ?  Dat's  all,  Miss  Grace, 
sure  dat's  all.'^ 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  say  something  about 
his  going  to  shoot  the  abolitionists,  Pete,  was  I 
mistaken  ?     Do  3'ou  know  what  they  are  ?" 

"  Don't  know  nothin',  j\Iiss  Grace,  sartin.  'Spects 
dey  be  somethin'  what  hnnts  a  nigger  mighty 
sharp,  'cause  I  heard  Massa  Charles  say  he'll  pop 
'em  over — dat's  all,  young  missus,  sartin,  sure, 
dat's  all." 

"  Well,  Pete,  let  me  tell  yoM  something.  In  my 
opinion  yow  will  be  wiser  than  you  are  now,  and 
that  before  many  years ;  only  keep  your  eyes 
open." 

"  Neber  you  mind.  Miss  Gracy.  Dis  nig'  '11 
keep  his  eyes  peeled,  dat's  what  he  will." 

Grace  Stanlej^  passed  leisurely  into  the  hall 
which  ran  through  the  main  building  leading  to 
the  open  court  be^^ond  where  the  fountain  was 
throwing  its  cool,  sparkling  jets  into  the  sunshine. 
She  did  not  heed  it,  however,  but  passed  on  up  the 
broad  winding  stairwa}^  meeting  no  one  on  the 
way  as  she  ascended  to  the  hall  above.  The  sun 
had  nearl}^  reached  his  meridian  glory,  and  the 
oppressive  heat  had  as  usual  driven  the  inmates  of 
that  elegant  home  to  their  shaded  retreats,  where  in 
comfortable  deshabille  they  lounged  on  beds  and 
sofas  drawn  up  by  the  open  windows,  that  per- 
chance tlie}^  might  catch  some  stray  breeze  that 
would  flit  up  from  the  orange  groves  or  come  from 
the  woodland  far  away  on  the  hill  side. 

"  Grace,"  called  a  sweet  voice  through  the  half- 
open  door  of  Lillian's  room,   "  I  thought   it    was 


heart's  sfxrets.  lol 

your  light  step  I  heard  on  the  stairs.  Come  in 
here,  darling.  See  how  nice  and  cool  it  is."  Grace 
obeyed,  but  Lillian  did  not  notice  the  sombre  shad- 
ows that  were  playing  over  the  usually  sunny  face 
of  her  cousin,  so  absorbed  was  she  with  the  hover- 
ing glooms  that  had  fallen  from  her  own  passing 
clouds,  and  so  she  continued,  pleasantly  :  "  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  make  yourself  a  little  more 
comfortable  ?■  Put  on  this  wrapper,  dear,  and  then 
come  and  sit  by  me,  will  you  ?  I  want  to  talk  a 
little." 

This  was  just  what  her  companion  did  not  care 
to  do  ;  still,  remembering  that  her  mission  to  Rose- 
dale  was  to  cheer  b}^  her  lively  mirth  and  vivacity 
her  drooping  cousin,  she  hastened  to  obey.  Yet 
how  was  she  to  accomplish  her  task  ?  "Only  three 
weeks  had  passed  since  her  arrival,  yet  weeks  so 
heavy  with  their  weight  of  circumstance  that  her 
very  soul  seemed  pressed  down  beneath  their 
weight.  Where  now  was  her  native  joyousness  ? 
The  cheering  powers  she  was  expected  to  impart 
to  others  ?  She  must  recall  them.  Yet  she  was 
chilled  and  oppressed  ;  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Act. 
Her  retreating  volubility  could  only  be  summoned 
again  to  its  post  through  action,  and  it  must  be 
done ! 

"  What  a  sweet  little  bouquet,"  she  exclaimed, 
arousing  herself  to  her  work.  "A  delicate  spray 
of  jesamine,  a  few  tiny  rose-buds  and  geranium 
leaves.  Do  you  know  that  I  never  could  have 
done  that?  There  is  something  so  exquisite  in 
their  arrangement.  Somehow  as  a  whole  they 
send  an  impressive  appeal  to  the  inner  senses,  my 
"  Lily  Bell."  There  must  be  such  a  bubbling 
fountain  of  poesy  in  a  soul  like  yours.     Teach  me, 


lo2  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSED  ALE. 

dear  cousin,  to  be  like  you."  And  the  pensive 
speaker  dropped  upon  the  floor  at  the  feet  of  Lil- 
lian, where  she  most  delighted  to  sit,  and  drooping 
her  head  wearily  upon  her  companion's  knee. 

Both  were  silent.  One  heart  had  that  morning 
drawn  back  the  rusty  bolt  on  the  door  of  its  inner 
chamber  and  rejoiced  to  find  itself  strong  enough 
to  drive  out  at  last,  its  long  imprisoned  secret  of 
gloom  that  had  made  it  so  wretched  through  the 
revolving  changes  of  many  years,  while  the  other 
was  even  then  busy  with  the  fastenings  of  the  se- 
cret closet  where  the  unsightly  skeleton  of  her  lost 
love  was  to  be  hidden  from  the  world,  from  herself. 
Yet  so  doing  might  eat  the  bloom  from  her  cheek 
and  the  joy  from  her  bouyaut  nature.  Why  did 
she  wish  to  be  like  Lillian  ?  She  had  not  asked 
even  her  aching  heart  this  question,  but  all  uncon- 
sciously to  herself  a  response  came  up  from  the 
hidden  recesses  of  her  soul  where  a  fresh  grave 
had  been  dug  by  trembling  hands  and  into  it  a  dead 
hope  had  been  lowered  and  closely  covered,  while 
the  damp  earth  was  trodden  down  hard  about  it, 
and  the  low  whisper  said,  "  If  like  her,  this  poor 
heart  to-day  would  not  be  draped  wath  its  sombre 
emblems  of  bereavement."  To  be  as  she  was,  to 
possess  the  power  to  win.  O  the  poor  throbbing 
hearts  all  over  the  world  that  must  keep  on  through 
the  3^ears  with  their  wounds  and  pains,  for  in  them 
are  many  graves  hidden  away  among  the  cypress 
shades,  where  the  passer-by  can  never  spy  them 
out ;  but  the  eye  of  the  eternal  one  sees  them  all, 
and  at  every  burial  the  tear'of  sympathy  mingles 
with  the  liquid  drops  of  bereavement  that  must  fall 
on  the  stone  at  the  mouth  of  the  sepulcher  which 
b}^  and  by  will  be  rolled  away  at  His  command. 


heart's  secrets.  133 

Lillian  aroused  herself  after  a  long  silence. 

"  You  give  me  more  praise,  darling,  than  I  de- 
serve," she  said.  "  I  am  as  incapable  as  yourself 
in  performing  these  little  touches  of  the  fine  arts 
which  you  see  every  day  on  my  table.  Black 
Tezzie  can  alone  teach  you  the  mysteries  of  a  skill 
she  so  fortunately  possesses.  Do  not  look  so  in- 
credulous, or  I  shall  be  obliged  to  prove  it  to  you," 
she  smiled. 

"I  am  not  unbelieving,  sweet  Lily  Bell,"  she  an- 
swered, "  but  I  confess  that  you  have  surprised 
me.  I  should  sooner  have  suspected  either  of  the 
other  servants  of  such  a  gift  as  that  ungainly 
biped,"  Grace  laughed,  but  Lillian  remained  silent. 

"  This  only  proves  that  it  is  sometimes  impossi- 
ble to  read  the  soul  from  the  outside,  my  pretty 
cousin.  I  learned  long  ago  that  there  was  more 
beauty  and  a  brighter  reflection  of  heavenly  glory 
shut  up  in  that  ebony  casket,  so  unprepossessing 
in  its  general  make-up,  than  in  half  the  more 
graceful  and  elegant  ones.  But  perhaps  you  are 
among  the  number  who  believe  that  these  dark 
forms  we  see  every  day  have  no  souls  within 
them  ? 

"  Why,  Lilly  Bell !  what  a  suspicion.  Still,  how 
am  I  supposed  to.  have  any  knowledge  regarding 
the  matter,  seeing  I  have  never  dissected  one  of 
them  ?" 

A  gesture  of  impatience  followed  this  remark, 
but  her  companion  did  not  appear  to  notice  it,  for 
she  continued : 

"  I  believe  that  old  auntie  has  as  pure  and  white 
a  soul  as  ever  inhabited  an  earthly  tenement.  I 
have  laid  my  head  on  her  bosom  with  a  deeper 
sense  of  rest  than  it  was  possible  for  me  to  obtain 


l;U       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

elsewhere.  Her  prayers  that  have  gone  up  so  con- 
tinually for  '  de  poor  wee  lamb  '  have  imparted 
more  real  comfort  and  hope  to  this  tempest-tossed 
soul  of  mine  than  any  that  could  have  ascended  from 
consecrated  temples.  No  soul  ?  What  could  I  ever 
have  done  without  her  in  this  life?  And  ni}^  an- 
ticipations regarding  the  brighter  one  to  follow  are 
stronger  to  day  because  of  her." 

Grace  Stanley  arose  from  her  seat  and  walked  to 
the  window,  while  her  companion  did  not  fail  to 
perceive  that  a  cloud  had  risen  and  was  spreading 
itself  over  her  features.  Not  wishing  to  press  the 
subject  further,  she  remarked  calmly: 

"  Some  of  our  company  are  leaving  to-day,  and 
George  St.  Clair  wished  me  to  hand  over  to  you  his 
adieus,  as  he  departed  in  great  haste,  regretting 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  able  to  meet  you  again." 

At  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  Grace  had  re- 
turned to  her  seat  upon  the  carpet,  and  Lillian, 
taking  the  sweet  face  between  her  little  hands, 
gazed  tenderly  into  it,  as  she  continued : 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  darling  cousin,  I  know, 
but  did  you  not  hear  our  conversation  in  the  rose 
arbor,  at  the  foot  of  the  lower  terrace,  two  hours 
ago  ?" 

The  dimples  stole  out  of  the  cheeks  the  soft, 
white  hands  of  the  interrogator  was  pressing  so 
lovingly,  and  the  light  jo3^ousness  in  her  bright, 
sparkling  eyes  became  dimmed,  while  a  veil  of 
crimson  spread  itself  over  it  all.  The  head  bowed 
low  as  it  released  itself  from  its  imprisonment,  and 
tears  that  had  long  been  struggling  to  be  free  came 
now  unrestrainedl3^ 

"  I  do  not  chide  you,  darling  ;  I  knew  j^ou  were 
not  far  away,  for   I    had    espied   a  portion  of  your 


heart's  secrets.  135 

white  dress  fluttering  through  a  crevice  of  the  vine 
outside  of  the  trestle-work,  and  rejoiced  that  it 
was  so." 

"  I  would  not  have  remained,  Lillian,  had  not 
iny  dress  become  so  entangled  that  I  could  not 
loosen  it  without  revealing  my  presence.  Believe 
me,  cousin,  I  was  not  a  willing  listener.  You  will 
not  doubt  this  ?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  and,  darling,  let  me  assure  you 
that  my  heart  is  lighter  for  the  circumstance,  for 
we  are  confidants  now.  I  have  had  such  a  long- 
ing to  tell  you  all ;  but  this  one  secret  had  become 
habitual  to  me.  The  very  thought  of  revealing  it 
filled  me  with  a  nervous  horror.  But  it  is  over 
now,  and  by  and  by  I  want  to  impart  to  your  ten- 
der sympathies  half  of  the  burden  I  have  so  long 
carried.  You  do  not  know  how  unendurable  its 
weight  has  become.  O  Grace,  it  is  dreadful  to 
be  obliged  to  endure  for  years  the  pains  of  a 
wounded  heart.  To  feel  its  throbbings  day  after 
day  without  the  power  to  claim  a  panacea  from  an- 
other's love." 

Grace  started. 

"  It  must  be  true,"  she  thought,  "  and  am  I  to 
thus  endure  ?" 

Ah !  little  did  she  know  how  the  first  deep 
wounds,  that  seemingly  "will  never  heal,"  can  be 
soothed  in  some  hearts,  while  in  others  no  power 
can  assuage  the  pain.  Grace  Stanley  could  for- 
get, for  the  sunshine  of  her  nature  was  salutary. 

At  this  juncture  Tezzie  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, and  announced  that  "Missus  wanted  do  young 
ladies  to  dress  fine  for  dinner,  for  Massa  Charles 
was  coming  back  wid  a  strange  gemman." 


136 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


"  Very  well,  we  will  be  ready  in  good  time,"  re- 
plied Lillian.  "  Now  go  and  call  Agnes  to  arrange 
my  hair." 

The  dark,  dumpy  figure  disappeared  from  sight, 
and  Lillian,  bowing  her  head,  kissed  again  the 
pure  white  forehead  of  her  companion. 

"  To-morrow,  dear,  I  want  your  little  heart  to 
beat  in  sjnnpath}^  with  my  own.  Good  by,"  and 
Grace  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  mother's  curse. 

"There,  Agnes,  you  may  go  now.  How  do  you 
like  my  looks  ?  Will  I  do  to  appear  before  the 
the  strange  gentleman  ?" 

"  Look,  Miss  Lily  ?  Why  you  look  like  the 
buful  cloud  I  seed  lyin'  so  soft  and  still  in  de  sun- 
shine, honey.  But  I  like  the  white  dress  more,  for 
den  you  look  just  like  de  angels,  waiting  for  de 
wings." 

"  That  will  do.  You  have  imagination  sufi&cient 
for  a  poet,  Agnes,  but  you  may  go  now.'' 

She  smiled  as  she  waved  her  hand  towards  the 
door  with  a  delicate  movement,  and  she  was  alone. 
Only  a  moment,  however,  for  the  faithful  servant 
had  just  disappeared  when  the  door  re-opened  and 
Mrs.  Belmont  entered  the  apartment.  She  was  still 
graceful  and  queenly  in  her  bearing,  and  her  long 
black  dress  swept  the  rich  carpet  with  an  impe- 
rious air.  Time  had  been  very  gentle  with  that 
fair  face,  touching  lightly  her  brow  with  his  un- 
welcome traces,  neither  quenching  the  fire  in  her 
dark  eyes  nor  dulling  the  lustre  of  her  glossy  hair. 
Yet  her  regal  head  had  a  habit  of  drooping,  as  if 
weary  of  its  weight  of  thought,  and  her  lips  be- 
came more  and  more  compressed  as  their  color 
faded  and  lines  of  anxious  care  grew  deeper  as 
the  years  rolled  by, 

137 


138  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  there  was  to  be  com- 
pany at  dinner?" 

"  Not  before  ?  I  understood  Tezzie  to  say  there 
would  be  a  stranger  here  at  lunch." 

"  It  may  be  so;  Charles  is  to  bring  home  a  col- 
lege friend,  I  believe/' 

This  would  have  been  very  unsatisfactor}'  under 
some  circumstances,  but  Lillian  was  not  curious. 
As  her  mother  entered  the  room  she  discovered 
that  strange,  wild  light  in  her  e3'es  which  she  had 
seen  there  mau}^  times  before,  and  well  knew  that 
beneath  it  a  hidden  fire  was  raging.  Mrs,  Bel- 
mont had  not  once  looked  into  the  face  of  her 
daughter,  but  had  seated  herself  by  the  open  win- 
dow, her  elbow  on  the  heav}'  frame-work,  while  her 
head  rested  wearily  upon  her  hand.  A  soft,  warm 
breeze  came  softl}'  and  caressed  her  with  its  per- 
fumed wings,  fanning  her  heated  brow,  and  whis- 
pering all  the  time  the  sweetest  words  of  purity 
and  peace  through  the  interwoven  branches  of  the 
luxurious  vine  outside.  In  her  heart,  however, 
were  discordant  notes  to  which  she  was  listening, 
having  no  ear  for  other  sounds,  were  they  ever  so 
melodious. 

"  Lillian,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  did  you  reject 
George  St.  Clair  this  morning  ?" 

"  I  did,  mother." 

"  You  did  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did?" 

The  daughter  spoke  quietly  and  calmly,  but  Mrs. 
Belmont  arose  hurriedly  from  the  chair  and  stood 
before  her. 

Lillian  did  not  quail  before  the  burning  look 
which  was  fixed  upon  her,  but  returned  it  with 
a  determined  gaze,  out  of  which  pity  and  filial 
affection  beamed  their  gentle  rays. 


THE  mother's  curse.  139 

*'  Child  !  child  !  this  must  not — cannot  be  !  I 
command  you  to  recall  him.  It  is  not  too  late.  He 
loves  you,  and  would,  without  doubt,  overlook  this 
unparalleled  freak  of  foolishness  in  which  3^ou  have 
been  so  unaccountably  indulging.  Recall  him, 
Lillian ;  your  whole  future  happiness  depends 
upon  it " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  mother ;  I  never  could  have 
been  happy  had  I  accepted  that  true,  noble  heart, 
and  given  in  exchange  my  poor  broken  and  divided 
one,  and  certainly  he  never  could  have  taken  me 
into  his  great  love  after  knowing  me  as  I  am, 
which  he  surely  must  have  done,  or  I,  at  least, 
would  have  been  eternally  wretched." 

"  You  did  not  tell  him  ?"  was  the  quick  inquiry. 

"  I  told  him  that  /  was  a  wife.  That  my  heart 
was  forever  bound  up  in  those  matrimonial  vows 
still  unsevered,  and  that  I  loved  him  as  a  brother, 
and  no  more." 

"  You  are  mad  !  a  fool !  You  know  not  what 
you  do,"  and  trembling  with  excitement  she  sank 
back  on  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen. 

Lillian  did  not  speak  or  move,  but  tears  came 
welling  up  through  the  freshly  opened  wounds  in 
her  poor  heart,  and  filled  her  large  pensive  eyes 
with  their  bitter  moisture. 

Again  the  mother  spoke. 

"  I  feel  disposed,  just  now,  to  enlighten  you  a 
little  in  regard  to  your  future  prospects  if  you  per- 
sist in  this  silly  sentimental  mood,  which  you  seem 
to  think  so  becoming  !  I  have  striven  hard  to  keep 
it  from  you  and  your  brother  for  many  years,  and 
to  surround  you  with  every  luxury  your  inherited 
station  really  demanded.  More  than  this,  I  have 
planned,  wrought,  and  guided  with  true  maternal 


140  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

skill  and  instinct  the  fortunes  of  you  both  in  such 
a  manner  that  you  might,  if  3^ou  would,  ever  retain 
your  enviable  position  in  the  social  world,  for  which 
I  have  exerted  myself  to  fit  3^ou." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  mother.  Be  merci- 
ful and  enlighten  me,  as  you  offered  to  do." 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  but  you  will  not  find  much  mercy 
in  it.  Know,  then,  that  we  are  not  owners  of  this 
beautiful  estate.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  mort- 
gaged to  the  father  of  George  St.  Clair  by  your 
own  father  some  time  before  his  death.  Think,  if 
you  can,  of  the  long  years  of  toil  I  have  exper- 
ienced since  that  time,  and  ask  if  you  are  right  in 
pulling  down  about  our  heads  the  whole  structure 
of  prosperity  and  affluence  that  I  have  been  so  long 
in  building." 

"I  discern  your  intricate  plans,  my  mother,  and 
pity  you." 

"  Pity  me?  Do  you  then  persist  in  your  folly? 
I  have  proven  to  you  then  that  it  is  in  your  power 
to  avert  this  ruin  !  ]\Ir.  St.  Clair  told  me  not  long 
since  that  Rosedale  would  eventually  belong  to  his 
son,  and  he  was  happy  to  feel  quite  sure  that  my 
daughter  would  share  it  with  him.  I  cannot  much 
longer  keep  the  Gorgon  from  devouring  us  !  All 
we  can  then  call  our  own  will  be  the  negroes,  and 
these,  without  doubt,  will  depreciate  much  in  value 
if  the  anticipated  war  of  the  North  really  comes 
upon  us  !  Decide  Lillian  !  Tell  me  that  you  will 
accede  to  my  wishes  in  recalling  George  St.  Clair ! 
That  northern  mud-sill  has,  without  doubt,  long 
before  this  returned  to  his  native  element.  He  is 
dead  to  you — as  wholly,  truly  so  as  though  you 
had  never  been  guilt}^  of  so  great  an  indiscretion  !" 
Lillian  started  to  her  feet. 


THE  mother's  curse.  141 

"  Mother,  one  question  !  Did  you  not  receive  a 
letter  from  my  aunt  in  Philadelphia  not  many 
months  ago  saying  that  my  husband  had  risen 
high  in  the  estimation  of  the  people  and  was  true 
to  his  early  vows  ?  Has  that  information  ever 
been  contradicted  ?  I  read  in  the  pallor  of  your 
face  that  it  has  not !  His  heart  beats  as  truly  for 
me  to-day  as  it  did  sixteen  years  ago — and  I  am 
his  wife!  He  is  the  father  of  my  sweet  Lily-bud, 
and  this  bond  can  never  be  severed !  No,  no  !  I 
cannot,  I  will  not^  wed  another!" 

"  The  curse  of  the  heart-broken  then  rest  upon 
youP''  She  had  moved  away  with  rapid  steps 
while  speaking,  and  although  Lillian  reached  out 
her  hand  imploringly  the  stately  figure  disappeared 
through  the  open  door.  O  the  speechless  agony 
of  the  next  hour!  O  the  suffering  in  that  lonely, 
sad,  luxurious  chamber !  All  the  misery  of  her 
eventful  life  came  rushing  over  her  1  Spectral 
thoughts,  that  she  had  supposed  were  long  since 
banished  forever,  haunted  her  brain  !  How  vivid 
and  real  they  now  appeared  in  this  new  darkness. 
Then  the  future  !  Where  was  the  black  hand  of 
destiny  to  lead  her?  Even  now  she  could  see  it 
reaching  out  its  bony  fingers  from  among  the 
mysteries  that  enveloped  her  hidden  path  !  The 
thick  folds  of  an  interminable  gloom  seemed  to 
have  fallen  about  her,  and  everywhere  she  beheld 
that  "  mother's  curse  "  written  in  letters  of  fire ! 
A  rap  was  heard  on  the  door  and  she  arose 
mechanically  and  turned  the  key.  Soon  the  sound 
of  a  heavy  tread  was  heard  along  the  hall — then 
down  the  winding  stair-case  and  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance. It  was  Tezzie,  and  she  was  alone  again ! 
By  and  by  the  echoes  of  music  and  laughter  came 


142  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

floating  up  tlirougli  the  open  window  and  mingled 
harshly  with  the  dreariness  which  pervaded  that 
silent  chamber!  There  was  a  merry  group  in  the 
spacious  drawing-room  before  the  dinner  hour  ar- 
rived. Where  was  the  wretched  mother?  Could 
it  be  that  those  rigid  features  which  disappoint- 
ment, consternation  and  rage  had  blanched  with 
their  inhuman  concoctions  was  covered  with  a 
mask  of  conviviality  and  pleasure?  Lillian  wept! 
It  was  well  that  tears  came  at  last  or  the  poor 
brain  would  have  become  parched  with  the  fever  of 
its  wild  despair!  The  sunshine  at  last  departed 
from  the  window  and  night  let  dov.'u  its  black, 
silken  curtains  around  a  weary  tumultuous  world. 
O,  how  many  hearts  sink  helplessly  beneath  their 
weight  of  woe,  crushing  under  it  the  jo}^  from  the 
outside  world  with  its  wealth  of  pomp  and  gaiety  ! 
Yet  there  are  those  who, when  the  da}-  departs,  throw 
aside  the  sackcloth  with  which  they  hide  their 
misery  and  come  with  all  their  sorrows  to  the  feet 
of  Him  whose  smiles  alone  have  the  power  to  dis- 
pel their  gloom.  Lillian  did  not  know  how  to 
pray!  In  all  her  years  of  perplexity  and  doubt 
she  had  not  reached  out  her  hand  to  the  only  one 
who  could  have  led  her  safely  out  of  it  all.  Now 
iier  heart  called  for  something  it  had  not  yet 
divined,  but  the  perplexed  soul  was  wistfully  gaz- 
ing upward  through  the  thick  clotids  that  drooped 
so  closely  about  her,  and  a  feeble  wail  issued  from 
beneath  the  sombre  darkness.  Another  low  tap 
was  heard  on  the  door  which  again  aroused  her. 
There  had  been  many  during  the  hours  of  her 
self-imprisonment,  but  she  had  not  heeded  them. 
However,  a  low,  sweet  voice  penetrated  her  soli- 
tude and  fell  with  soothing  cadence  upon  her  ear. 


THE  mother's  curse.  143 

"  It's  auntie,  lioney — open  the  door,  poor  lamb  ;" 
and  Lillian's  quick  step  revealed  the  willingness 
with  which  she  complied.  The  faithful  old  slave 
came  in  and  the  door  was  relocked. 

"  What  fo'  you  killin'  yo'self  here  all  alone, 
honey?  I  know'd  dar  was  trouble  all  day  and  I 
just  been  askin'  de  good  Lord  to  take  care  of  you  ; 
but  I  did  want  to  come  and  see  if  he'd  done  it — 
poo'  lamb !"  Aunt  Vina  had  drawn  her  chair 
close  to  the  side  of  Lillian,  and  the  weary  head 
with  its  heavy  weight  of  sorrow  had  fallen  upon 
the  shoulder  of  her  faithful  friend.  "  Dar — bress 
you  honey — cry  all  yo'  trouble  out.  Dat's  de  wa}^ 
de  bressed  Lord  helps  us  to  get  rid  on  'em.  By 
an'  by  sweet  lamb  He'll  wipe  'em  all  away ;  den 
ye'U  hab  no  mo'  sorrow,  honey,  bress  de  Lord !" 

"  But  I  have  now  more  than  I  can  bear !  You 
don't  know  what  a  terrible  load  I  am  being  crushed 
beneath !" 

"  I  know  a  good  deal,  chile.  Missus  told  me  to- 
day dat  you  wouldn't  marry  Massa  St.  Clair,  and 
she  'spects  you  was  pinin'  at  somethin'  she  said ! 
I  axed  her  if  I  might  come  and  see  you  and  she 
didn't  care,  but  wanted  I  should  make  you  '  'bey 
yo'  mudder' ;  now  de  Lord  knows  better  dan  she 
do." 

"Did  she  tell  you  that  she  cursed  me?  O — 
auntie  !  I  could  bear  all  the  rest,  even  the  misera- 
ble future  she  has  pictured  to  me ;  but  it  is  dread- 
ful to  carry  through  life  the  terrible  burden  of  a 
mother's  curse." 

•'  Nebber  you  min',  honey ;  de  Lord'll  pay  no 
'tention  to  such  cussin',  an'  it  won't  hurt  ye  a  bit, 
if  ye  dont  keep  thinkin'  on  it.  Why  can't  ye  tell 
Him  all  about  it,  poor  chile,  den  t'row  it  all  away  ? 


144  thp:  mistress  of  rosedale. 

He'll  take  good  care  ob  it,  sure,  and  it  won't  hurt 
you." 

"  Do  you  believe,  Aunt  Vina,  tliat  God  cares 
anything  about  me  ?  Would  He  listen  if  I  should 
ask  Him  to  take  my  cause  into  His  hands?" 

''  Sartin  He  would,  honey.  He  lubs  you  ten  times 
mo'  dan  old  auntie,  and  wouldn't  she  take  ebery 
bit  ob  it  if  she  could  ?" 

The  rough  hand  of  the  slave  woman  touched 
with  soft  caress  the  tear-stained  cheek  that  was 
resting  so  near  her  own,  and  the  cheering  words 
fell  into  her  aching  heart  with  a  soothing  influence. 

"  Pray  for  me,  auntie,  and  I  will  try  to  do  as  you 
have  bidden.  The  road  is  very  dark  and  gloomy 
where  my  faltering  feet  are  standing,  but  it  may 
be  as  you  say,  that  God  will  drive  it  all  away." 

"  O  bress  de  Lord,  bress  de  Lord!  Auntie  knows 
ye'll  fin'  it.  Never  mind  nothin',  go  tell  Him 
ebery  thin',  and  see  how  de  dark  will  all  go  'way. 
Dar,  honey  ;  old  Vina'll  go  and  get  ye  a  good  cup 
o'  tea,  and  bring  in  de  lamp  and  make  it  more 
cheery  like.  De  good  Lord'll  take  care  ob  de 
lamb!" 

"Where  is  Grace?"  was  the  plaintive  query, 

"  O  Miss  Grace,  she's  'most  crazy  'bout  you.  I 
seed  her  alone  in  de  little  arbor  cryin'  dreadful 
awhile  ago ;  but  den  she  puts  'em  'way  quick,  and 
her  pretty  face  looks  all  happy  agin.  She  was 
singin'  at  de  planner  when  I  come  up." 

"  Tell  her,  auntie,  not  to  come  to  me  until  to- 
morrow. I  wish  to  be  left  alone  to-night.  You  may 
bring  me  a  cup  of  tea,  then  tell  Agnes  that  I  shall 
not  want  her,"  was  the  pleading  wail  of  the  sor- 
rowing heart  as  the  slave  woman  disappeared  on 
her  errand  of  love  and  tenderness. 


THE    mother's    curse. 


14 


b 


Fold  thy  wings  lovinglj^  over  the  bowed  form  of 
the  humble  suppliant,  O  angel  of  pit}',  for  the 
Father  hears  the  cry  of  his  suffering  children  ;  not 
one  ever  pleaded  in  vain,  and  Lillian  prayed  ! 


Gi"'.'E  yiE  THAT  PAPER."   (See  page  153). 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER. 

It  was  not  until  late  the  next  day  that  Lillian 
granted  the  oft  repeated  request  of  her  cousin  to 
be  allowed  to  come  to  her,  and  not  a  moment  was 
lost  ere  the  two  friends  were  together 

"  It  was  cruel  in  you,  my  sweet  Lillian,  to  banish 
me  so  long,  but  how  ill  you  look,"  and  Grace  Stan- 
ley clasped  her  arms  about  the  dear  form  and 
kissed  the  pale  cheek  tenderly. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  prett}^  cousin,  in  my  general 
appearance,  for  I  have  not  been  so  well  in  a  long 
time.  In  fact,  your  '  poor  despondent  cousin '  is 
almost  happy  to-day." 

Lillian  was  looking  into  the  face  of  her  compan- 
ion while  her  pure  liquid  eyes  were  overflowing 
with  the  new-found  joy  that  was  filling  her  heart. 

"  I  have  been  troubled,  Grace.  Yesterday  a 
heavy  wave  rolled  over  me,  that  came  near  bury- 
ing your  '  Lily  Bell '  beneath  it.  But  it  has  passed 
on,  and  I  was  left  out  of  the  tempest,  and  a  hand 
reached  out  to  hold  me  as  I  was  going  down  be- 
neath the  roaring  billows.  At  any  rate  I  am  stand- 
ing firm  to-day,  and  have  no  fears  of  winds  or 
storms.  Somehow  I  feel  secure  in  the  belief  that 
I  shall  be  shielded  and  brought  through  it  all," 
and  the  fair  head  drooped  for  awhile  on  her  hand, 
and  the  joyful  tears    came  and  baptised  afresh  her 

147 


148  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

trembling  new-born  hope.  Grace  had  no  word  of 
trust  to  lay  on  the  altar  of  consecration,  and  could 
only  sit  at  the  feet  of  her  who  was  casting  her  all 
upon  it,  and  be  silent. 

"  Forgive  me  cousin,  my  heart  and  thoughts 
have  been  straying.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  3^ou 
that  I  might,  if  possible,  break  the  last  cord  that 
binds  me  so  tenaciously  to  the  dark  scenes  of  the 
past  that  I  would  bury  forever." 

"  Are  you  able,  Lillian,  to  bear  the  agitation 
such  a  conversation  would  subject  yon  to  ?"  inter- 
posed Grace,  with  much  feeling.  "  It  would  make 
me  ver}^  happj^  to  know  3'ou  had  opened  wide  the 
door  of  your  poor  heart  and  taken  me  into  its 
sacred  places,  yet  I  would  not  give  you  the  slightest 
needless  pain." 

"  Thoughtful  as  ever,  darling  ;  but  I  feel  quite 
sufficient  for  the  task.  Yesterday  you  heard  me 
tell  George  St.  Clair  of  my  marriage,  and  how  my 
mother  came  to  the  city  and  influenced  me  to  go 
with  her.  No  doubt  you  think  it  strange,  as  he 
did,  that  no  greater  effort  has  been  made  by  m}^ 
husband  to  reclaim  his  lost  bride.  I  could  not  tell 
him  all,  the  old  habitual  fear  made  me  silent.  I 
am  free  to-day,  and  my  confidence  is  unfettered. 
No  power  could  have  kept  him  but  the  one  this 
guilty  hand  set  up  between  us." 

"You,  Lillian?" 

"  Yes,  Grace,  I  did  it.  Not  willingly,  not  quite 
consciously,  yet  I  did  it." 

Grace  looked  puzzled,  and  her  bright  eyes  were 
fixed  intently  on  the  sweet  face  she  so  loved,  then 
she  said, 

"Goon." 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    LETTER.  149 

"  It  was  the  night  before  our  departure  from 
Philadelphia  when,  seeing  the  postman  coming- 
down  the  street,  I  ran  out  to  meet  him,  for  some- 
thing seemed  to  tell  me  he  had  a  letter  that  would 
gladden  my  poor  heart.  I  was  not  mistaken.  It 
was  from  Pearl,  and  O  what  a  wealth  of  love  it  con- 
tained. He  would  be  at  home  in  a  week.  The  bus- 
iness that  had  called  him  away  was  almost  finished. 
"  Then,  dearest,"  he  added,  "  no  king  was  ever 
more  ecstatic  over  his  crown  than  I  shall  be  with 
my  own  pure  Lily." 

"'Pure!'  How  that  word  thrust  itself  heme  to 
my  poor  quivering  heart.  I  had  run  with  the  pre- 
cious missive  to  my  room,  and  there,  as  the  evening 
shades  settled  down  about  me,  I  raved  in  my  agony 
with  the  madness  of  delirium.  /  wo^dd  not  leave 
him!  Alone  that  night  I  would  fly  into  the  dark- 
dess  leaving  behind  me  forever  those  who  would 
tear  me  from  him.  By  and  by  my  mother  came  in 
with  her  soft,  soothing  tones,  she  pitied  and 
caressed  me.  It  was  not  at  all  strange,  she  said, 
that  I,  a  child,  should  struggle  in  the  arms  of  wis- 
dom. I  was  weak  now,  but  by-and-by  I  could  walk 
alone,  then  would  come  her  reward.  She  was  la- 
boring for  my  good  only,  and  when  I  could  look  at 
it  I  calmly  would  bless  her  for  it.  We  would  go 
to  England,  where  my  father's  relatives  were  liv- 
ing, and  she  would  cause  pleasure  to  fall  around 
me  as  bountiful  as  summer  rain.  After  a  few  years 
of  travel  and  study,  if  I  then  should  find  my  heart 
still  clinging  to  its  '  imaginary  '  love,  I  should  re- 
turn to  the  object  of  my  tried  devotion  O  how 
gradually  but  surely  did  my  silly  heart  yield  to 
this  sophistry !  In  a  few  hours  I  was  her  submis- 
sive tool.    The  fascination  of  a  European  tour,  the 


150  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

pictures  of  Parisian    frivolities,  and  the  glitter  of 
pomp  and  fashion  in  the  society  into  which  I  might 
plunge  and  come  forth  sparkling  ^ith  its  polished 
gems  for  all  future  adorning,  captured  my  bewild- 
ered senses  and  stilled  m}^  whirling  tiain.    In  the 
morning  we  were  to  start  on  our  journey,  would  I 
like  to  leave  a  few  words  for  him  who  would  piob- 
ably  for  a  while   grieve  at   my  absence  and  mourn 
over  his  disappointment?      It  would  not,  hc^ACver, 
last  long,  such  troubles  never  do  with  these  of  his 
sex,  she  said,  and  I  should  not  certainly  make  my- 
self uncomfortable    about    it.     Nothing    could   be 
more  to  my  wishes,  and   then    I  was  told   that  she 
had  written  a  short  letter  which  1  had  better  copy, 
as  my  head  was  not  clear  enough   to  think  intelli- 
gently.     It   would    help   him  to   forget   his  disap- 
pointment and  make   him   happy,  just  as  I  wished 
him  to  be,      O  tJiat  letter!     I  can  onl}-  give  you  its 
purport ;    that  I  can  never  forget.    It  tcld  him  that 
terrible  falsehood  that   I   went  from  him  willingly 
believing    it  not    only    to  be    ni}^    <i"'-^ty,    but    bet- 
ter for  us  both.     Then  it  went  on  to  say  that  I  had 
come  to  the  conclusion    since  his  absence,  that  my 
affections  were  fleeting  with  m}^  childhood  ;   but  if 
in  after  years  I  found  that  I  was  mistaken  I  would 
frankly  write  and  tell  him  so  ;   until  then  I  wished 
he  would  not  \.ry  to  see  or  hear  from  me.     Georgia 
would  not  be  a  pleasant  place  for  a  northern  '  abo- 
litionist '  like  himself  to  visit,  and   should  he   pre- 
sume  upon   so   rash   an  act,   I   had  no  doubt  my 
mother  would  not  fail  to  incense  the  people  against 
him,  and  pleaded  that  for  my  sake  he  would    not 
attempt  it.     He  might  have   suspected   the    origin 
of  that  infamous  epistle,  had  not  a  cunning  brain 
devised   and  executed  it.     O  Grace,  dear  Grace  ! 


THE   MYSTERIOUS   LETTER.  1-")1 

how  can  you  hold  that  perjured  hand  so  closely  in 
your  own  ? 

"  It  is  pure  and  white  my  Lily  Bell ;  no  sin- 
stain  mars  its  beauty.  Heart  and  hand  are  free 
from  such  implications.  But  you  told  him  also 
that  you  were  going  to  Europe?" 

"  O,  yes,  and  that  it  would  be  uncertain  when 
we  should  return.  We  went  as  anticipated  the  next 
morning,  taking  with  us  one  hired  servant.  This 
seemed  strange  to  me  at  that  time,  as  I  supposed 
we  were  to  return  to  our  southern  home  imme- 
diately and  would  need  no  one  if  this  be  so.  I 
soon  found,  however,  our  route  lay  in  a  different 
direction.  I  cannot  tell  where  we  spent  the  sum- 
mer months,  but  it  was  in  a  small  cottage  in  a 
wild,  dreary  place  not  so  far  from  human  habita- 
tion but  that  Margeret  could  go  twice  a  week  iu  a 
few  hours  to  procure  the  necessities  on  which  we 
subsisted.  The  first  of  October  we  left  this  retreat 
where  I  had  spent  so  many  wretched  hours  under 
the  surveillance  of  my  mother,  and  after  two  days 
of  tiresome  travel  by  private  carriage  and  cars  we 
arrived  at  the  seashore.  There  we  took  possession 
of  a  summer  residence  on  a  high  cliff  that  over- 
looked the  water,  which  showed  signs  of  not  hav- 
ing been  long  vacated.  Here  in  less  than  three 
weeks  I  became  a  mother !  Can  I  tell  you  about 
it  ?  O  the  terrible  suspicions  that  arise  in  my 
poor  brain  as  I  remember  that  scene  !  Only  once 
did  I  look  on  my  sweet  lily  bud !  I  cannot  make 
you  understand  the  rapture  of  that  moment !  It 
was  mine — it  was  Jiis\  How  I  longed  that  he 
should  see  our  beautiful  flower  ;  and  then  I  said 
'her  name  shall  be  Lily-Pearl,  and  that  shall  be 
the  inseparable  tie  between  us.'     I  was  very  ill 


152  THE    ^IISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

for  a  long  time  they  told  nie,  and  when  my  flut- 
tering life  came  back  with  its  full  powers  I  was 
informed  that  my  beautiful  bud  had  withered  and 
died  and  lay  sleeping  in  the  elegant  robe  my 
hands  had  taken  such  pleasure  in  forming. 
Grace — God  forgive  me  if  I  impute  wrong  to  the 
innocent ;  but  here  in  the  presence  of  Him  into 
whose  hands  I  have  committed  ni}^  cause  I  assert 
my  belief  that  the  terrible  blow  that  came  near 
severing  the  brittle,  trembling  thread  of  life  was  a 
base  fabrication  and  that  my  child  is  not  dead  !" 
"  Lillian  !  Lillian!  I  know  it  is  a  dreadful  ac- 
cusation, but  listen  !  You  know  I  was  in  London 
five  years  and  then  my  mother  came  for  me.  In 
one  year  more  we  returned  home.  Not  many 
weeks  after  ni}-  arrival  I  was  passing  through  the 
east  hall  when  little  Tommy  came  running  to  me 
with  a  folded  paper  in  his  hand.  He  said  he  had 
picked  it  up  from  the  floor  and  I  took  it.  It 
proved  to  be  a  letter  written  to  ni}^  mother  without 
date  or  signature.  It  was  hardly  legible,  for  it 
was  evident  that  the  hand  by  which  it  was  written 
was  unused  to  the  pen.  The  writer,  however, 
complained  of  neglect  and  said  the  bargain  made 
in  regard  to  the  child  had  not  been  complied  with  ; 
that  she  was  worthless  to  them,  and  if  the  three 
hundred  dollars  did  not  come  soon  my  mother 
must  find  another  place  for  her.  What  child  can 
my  mother  possibly  have  any  interest  in  ?  Some- 
thing further  was  said  about  her  being  six  years 
old  which  I  could  not  make  out.  A  terrible  con- 
viction took  possession  of  me  !  This  zuas  my  child! 
My  Lily!  And  who  knows  but  ere  this  she  has 
been  sent  out  into  the  world  in  default  of  this  pal- 
try  three  hundred !      Goaded  b}/-  my  suspicions  I 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    LETTER.  1513 

rushed  into  the  presence  of  my  mother  with  that 
m3^sterious  paper  burning  in  my  hand  !  '  What 
is  this  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  What  child  is  the 
heartless  wretch  talking  about?'  I  almost  gasped 
so  ungovernably  did  my  brain  reel  beneath  the 
weight  of  this  fearful  apprehension.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  look  that  greeted  me  !  She  was  stand- 
ing before  the  mirror  in  her  dressing-room  as  I 
entered,  but  turned  quickly  as  my  tremulous 
voice  fell  upon  her  ear.  Her  face  was  as  pale  and 
livid  as  the  marble  statuette  near  which  she  was 
standing,  while  her  eyes  flashed  with  the  inward 
fire  she  vainly  endeavored  to  conceal.  '  Give  me 
that  paper P  she  demanded  with  extended  hand  ; 
'  how  did  you  come  by  it  ?'  '  Tell  me  first !'  I  ex- 
claimed ;  '  zuho  is  the  child  spoken  of  in  it  ?  I 
7nust — I  will  know!'  She  stared  wildly  at  me, 
while  a  ghastly  smile  spread  itself  over  her  pallid 
features  and  suddenly  her  voice  sank  to  a  low 
musical  cadence  peculiar  to  herself  as  you  well 
know,  Grace,  and  somehow  it  has  never  failed  to 
bring  my  most  stubborn  will  in  meek  subjection 
to  her  feet.  'Lillian,  my  child,'  she  said  ;  ^  why 
are  you  so  much  agitated  ?  Compose  yourself; 
such  fits  of  anger  is  not  at  all  becoming !  The 
story  of  the  child  in  whom  you  seem  so  much  in- 
terested is  a  very  short  one.  I  should  have  con- 
fided it  to  you  long  ago,  if  by  so  doing  I  would  not 
have  been  obliged  to  reveal  a  secret  which  I  could 
not  have  told  with  honor.  I  will  now,  however, 
satisfy  your  curiosity  in  a  measure.  You  know 
that  I  have  both  relatives  and  friends  in  Savannah, 
one  of  these  had  a  daughter  who  a  few  years  ago 
became  a  mother  of  an  illegitimate  child  ;  of  course 
the  mortification  must  be  hidden  if  possible  from 


154  THE    MISTRESS   OE    ROSEDALE. 

the  world,  and  much  against  my  will  I  became  an 
accomplice  in  the  affair.  This  is  the  one  alluded 
to  in  that  document  you  hold  so  tenaciousl}-  in 
your  hand.  Now  give  it  to  me  and  forget  the  sub- 
ject altogether.'  She  reached  for  it,  and  with  her 
eyes  gazing  steadily  into  mine  took  it  from  me 
and  walked  with  a  firm  tread  through  an  opposite 
door,  leaving  me  standing  alone  conquered  but  not 
convinced.  Do  not  think  harshly  of  me,  dear 
Grace,  I  know  my  mother  is  3'our  beloved  aunt, 
and  for  this  reason  I  confide  in  3-ou.  I  would  not 
let  my  suspicions  loose  upon  the  world,  but  some- 
thing has  whispered  to  me  many  times  since  that 
day  that  Lily  did  not  die  iu  her  infancy,  and  can 
you  imagine  my  agony  when  I  realize  that  now 
she  may  be  homeless  and  friendless,  or  what  is 
equally  dreadful  to  me  surrounded  perhaps  with 
evil  associations  growing  up  into  womanhood  un- 
lovely and  unloved  ?"  The  head  of  the  agitated 
Lillian  sank  down  on  the  shoulder  of  her  com- 
panion, and  clasped  in  each  other's  arms  the  two 
mingled  their  tears  of  sorrow  and  sympathy. 
During  all  this  time  Lillian  had  spoken  kindl}-  of 
the  cause  of  all  this  treachery  and  guilt  !  She 
was  dealing  with  the  great  sad  past — unclasping 
it  link  by  link  from  her  present  and  future  as  one 
throws  off  accumulated  burdens  w^hen  preparing 
for  laborious  action.  She  had  secretly  before  this 
laid  them  all  at  the  feet  of  Him  ^vho  had  said, 
"cast  thy  burdens  on  the  Lord  and  he  will  sus- 
tain thee."  His  promises  she  felt  were  true  and 
she  expected  to  be  assisted  over  the  road  that 
seemed  stretching  itself  among  the  thick  shadows 
farther  than  her  faith  could  penetrate. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER. 


15,1 


A  few  hours  before  this  conversation  when  alone 
with  her  blessed  Saviour  she  had  said  with  quiv- 
ering lips  and  wildly  throbbing  heart :  "  Forgive 
the  poor  wailing  crj^,  for  I  cannot  hush  its  sob- 
bings !  Rachel  wept  for  her  children  and  would 
not  be  comforted — my  child  is  not — not  dead,  or 
the  mother  love  would  cease  its  calling,"  and  then 
she  prayed  :  "  Thou  who  noticest  the  fall  of  a  little 
sparrow  watch  over  and  protect  mj^  Lily  !  Shield 
her — lead  her  in  a  path  where  I  may  find  her." 

Did  the  Father  hear  ? 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SCENES  ON  THE   PLANTATIONo 

Autumn  came  at  last.  The  heart  of  the  great 
Republic  throbbed  with  unsteady  pulsation,  and 
every  nerve  in  the  body  politic  thrilled  with  ex- 
citement as  the  looked-for  crisis  drew  near.  There 
were  faint  whisperings  in  each  breeze,  so  low  at 
first  that  every  ear  was  strained  to  the  uttermost 
tension  to  catch  the  vibrating  strains,  but  soon 
they  became  louder  and  louder  until  the  founda- 
tions of  peace  and  prosperity  were  shaken  to  their 
very  center.  "  War,  war  !"  It  was  talked  of  every- 
where. In  the  salon,  in  the  dining  hall,  not  even 
were  the  parlor  and  boudoir  exempt  from  the  un- 
welcome sounds.  The  politicians  discussed  it  over 
their  wine,  and  unfledged  aspirants  for  fame  probed 
the  bare  possibilities  in  secret  conclaves.  Ebony 
forms  crowded  beneath  windows  and  balconies  with 
eyes  and  lips  protruded,  eager  to  catch  the  myster- 
ious meaning  of  the  universal  subject,  "war!" 
Aristocracy  in  the  brilliant  halls  of  pleasure  and 
revelry  saw  the  strange  hand  appear  and  the  fin- 
ger writing  upon  the  wall.  How  flushed  cheeks 
paled,  and  rosy  lips  changed  to  ashy  hue,  and  how 
knees  smote  together  with  fear.  "War!  war!"  A 
cloud,  dark  and  murky,  rolled  up  from  the  horizon 
full  of  terrible  mutterings,  and  loaded  with  death 
and  devastation,  moving  steadily  onward,  until  the 

157 


158  THE    MiSTRESvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

broad  clear  sky  was  covered,  and  the  ra3^s  that  had 
so  long  fallen  upon  a  prosperous  peoj^le  were  shut 
out,  and  shadows  deep  and  portentous  drooped 
their  heavy  folds  about  the  agitated  nation.  Moth- 
ers all  over  the  land  gazed  through  blinding  tears 
upon  their  noble  sons,  who  stood  with  elevated 
brows  around  the  home  fires.  Wives  thrust  back 
their  true  devotion  into  the  secret  chambers  of  ag- 
onized hearts,  and  pressed  more  closely  the  pallid 
lips,  and  remained  silent. 

Perhaps  there  was  not  another  in  the  whole  laud 
who  was  more  bitter  towards  those  who  had  caused 
these  preparations  of  calamity  than  was  Airs.  Bel- 
mont. True,  she  had  her  own  ideas  who  these 
were,  as  well  as  all  others  throughout  both  sections 
of  the  Republic.  Having  been  for  so  man}/  years 
upheld  in  her  present  position  of  luxury  and  ease 
by  sable  hands,  it  was  no  very  agreeable  prospect, 
surel}',  to  discover  a  mere  possibilit}^  that  they 
might  at  some  future  time  be  giving  way  beneath 
her. 

The  lady  of  Rosedale  with  her  son  and  daugh- 
ter had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending  several  weeks 
during  the  winter  in  Savannah,  but  now  her  ar- 
rangements for  the  season  M'ere  materially  changed, 
Lillian  having  gone  to  New  Orleans  with  her 
cousin  Grace  for  an  unlimited  time,  the  mother  and 
son  would  go  immediately  without  her. 

The  cloud  had  never  disappeared  from  the  fam- 
ily horizon  since  that  eventful  da}'  when  George 
St.  Clair  left  Rosedale  a  rejected  lover.  The 
daughter  would  not  recall  him  with  a  promise  of 
her  love  or  her  hand,  and  consequently  the  shadow 
of  her  mother's  anger  hung  over  her,  dark  and 
gloomy.     There  were  no  filial  tears  shed  at  part- 


SCENES   ON    THE    PLANTATION.  159 

iiig,  nor  were  there  words  of  regret,  or  even  one 
sweet,  maternal  kiss.  How  sad,  how  very  sad, 
that  such  things  must  be.  Can  human  love  die? 
That  healthful  seed  which  God  planted  so  tenderly 
in  every  heart  to  make  life  endurable  as  well  as 
beautiful  with  its  buds  and  blossoms — can  all  this 
ever  be  rooted  up?  True,  its  flowers  may  wither, 
its  bright  green  leaves  may  fade  and  fall,  its  ten- 
der stalks  even  be  broken,  but  the  roots,  the  deeply 
imbedded  roots — tJiey  can  never,  never  die.  Smother 
them  with  cruelties  and  wrongs,  if  you  will,  bury 
them  beneath  the  accumulated  rubbish  of  selfish- 
ness and  misconduct,  there  will  come  a  time  Mhen 
the  warm  sunshine  of  tender  memories  and  the  soft 
dews  of  genial  affections,  which  the  hand  of  divinity 
shall  scatter  over  it,  will  bring  forth  fresh  shoots 
from  the  hidden  life  of  the  heart's  immortal  love. 

No,  it  cannot  die ;  or  why  did  Mrs.  Belmont 
hurry  into  her  private  apartment,  as  soon  as  the 
sound  of  the  rolling  wheels  that  were  bearing  her 
daughter  from  her  was  lost  in  the  distance,  to  give 
vent  there  to  pent  up  tears  ?  It  might  have  been 
remorse,  it  is  true,  for  the  last  look  on  that  pale 
face,  as  L-illian  waved  her  adieus  from  the  carriage 
window,  would  not  leave  her.  There  were  tears 
also  on  Aunt  Vina's  cheeks,  although  she  endeav- 
ored to  hide  them,  amid  her  merry  laughter,  as  she 
took  off  her  well-worn  shoe  to  throw  after  her  de- 
parting darling.  But  Lillian  felt  that  there  was 
more  good  luck  in  her  parting  words  and  benedic- 
tion than  in  this.  "  De  good  Lord  bress  ye,  honey, 
and  bring  ye  back  to  poo'  old  Vina  !" 

"  Pray  for  me,  auntie,  while  I  am  gone,"  was  the 
feeble  response  from  the  sore  and  aching  heart. 


1(30  THE    MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  Dat    I  will    ebery  da}',  sartin  !     Aud  don't  ye 
mind  notliin' !     Just  ye  be  happy  ;  dats  all !" 

But  there  came  an  hour  when  the  warm  sun- 
shine gathered  up  its  little  gems  of  joy  from  out 
the  poor  twisted  life  of  the  humble  slave,  and  left 
the  heart  bleeding  beneath  the  gloomy  shadows 
where  it  had  been  stricken.  No  one  knew  how  it 
came  about — but  one  bright  morning  M-hen  the 
orange-groves  were  full  of  birds,  who  had  arrived 
from  their  northern  homes  before  the  wintry  blasts 
had  reached  them,  little  Shady  was  found  in  the 
store-house  l3'ing  beneath  a  huge  bale  of  cotton 
quite  dead!  The  overseer  "had  seen  him  frolic- 
inof  like  a  kitten  among-  them  and  told  him  not  to 
climb  to  the  top  one,  as  he  seemed  inclined  to  do  ;" 
and  that  was  all  that  could  be  revealed  of  the  sad 
story  !  It  was  night  now  to  old  Vina  !  Nowhere 
in  her  desolate  heart  could  she  find  the  sweet  balm 
she  had  so  often  poured  into  the  wounds  of  other's 
griefs.  Above  her  shone  no  star  with  silvery  ray 
to  light  up  the  dark  despair!  Grief  has  many 
fangs,  all  sharp  and  poisonous  and  hard  to  be 
borne  as  they  pierce  through  the  sensitive  nerves 
of  the  human  heart ;  but  some  strike  deeper  than 
others,  letting  out  the  very  life  of  the  soul  and 
floodinof  the  secret  chambers  with  the  malaria  of 
woe  !  Aunt  Vina  felt  all  this  when  at  last  the  lit- 
tle form  she  had  so  loved  and  cherished  was  laid 
away  in  its  cheerless  bed  among  the  buttonwood 
trees,  where  her  hand  could  reach  him  no  more 
with  its  cheery  good-night.  What  was  there  now 
to  keep  her  tired  feet  from  faltering  by  the  way, 
or  her  heart  from  sinking  under  its  weight  of  life's 
sorrows  ?  When  the  last  sod  was  laid  tenderly  on 
the  little   grave,  and  "  Parson  Tom  "  had  said  in 


SCENES   ON    THE    PLANTATION.  161 

his  most  solemn  tones  "  de  Lord  gabe  and  de  Lord 
hab  taken  away,  and  bressed  be  de  name  ob  de 
Lord,"  she  turned  away  from  it  all  with  no  re- 
sponsive "  bress  de  Lord  "  bubbling  up  through 
the  torn  fissures  of  her  bleeding  heart,  and  sought 
her  accustomed  place  by  the  kitchen  grate.  With- 
out a  tear  or  moan  she  sank  down  upon  a  chair, 
her  head  drooping  low  upon  her  broad  chest, 
sitting  there  as  motionless  and  still  as  though  the 
lamp  of  her  existence  had  also  been  blown  out.  In 
vain  did  dark  forms  gather  about  her  with  their 
tears  of  sympathy  and  words  of  condolence  and 
love !  She  heeded  them  not !  The  soft,  warm 
beams  of  the  noonday  sun  came  in  through  the 
door  and  gathered  themselves  about  her  bowed 
form,  but  she  moved  not.  When  the  shadows  of 
night  crept  in  she  arose  and  stole  away  into  the 
thick  darkness  of  her  chamber  to  pray  alone  !  No 
eye  but  His  who  wept  tears  of  sympathy  at  the 
tomb  of  Lazarus  witnessed  the  agony  that  night  of 
the  poor  heart-broken  slave.  No  ear  but  His  who 
will  wipe  away  all  tears  listened  to  the  moans  and 
prayers  that  were  borne  upward  on  the  wings  of 
departing  night  from  that  humble  chamber !  God 
heard  them,  however,  and  a  register  was  made  in 
that  book  which  is  to  be  opened  on  that  great  day 
of  accounts  when  one  more  spotless  robe  of  white 
was  ready  for  her  who  had  "  come  up  through 
much  tribulation  !" 

The  next  morning,  earlier  than  usual,  Aunt 
Vina  appeared  in  her  accustomed  place.  Her 
cheeks  were  hollow  and  her  eyes  sunken,  yet  she 
moved  about  with  steady  step  gathering  up  every 
trace  of  her  lost  darling,  burning  the  few  scattered 
blocks  he  had  brought  in  that  sad  day  he  went  out 


162  THE    ^riSTRRSvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

to  come  ill  no  more,  throwing  far  back  into  the 
dark  closet  the  tattered  hat  and  much-nsed  whip, 
as  if  by  so  doing  slie  conkl  hide  the  sorrow  that 
was  eating  away  her  life.  And  thus  she  labored 
on. 

The  house  was  indeed  empt}-  now  !  "  Pete  " 
had  gone  with  his  young  master,  and  Emily,  the 
particular  favorite  of  her  mistress,  was  with  her  in 
Savannah,  and  poor  iVunt  Vina  turned  her  heart's 
longings  towards  the  absent  Lillian.  "  If  she  was 
only  here,"  she  would  sa}^  over  and  over  again  ; 
"  de  wee  lamb!  De  Lord  knows  how  to  pity  deiii 
dat  lub  Him  !" 

"And  don't  3^011  lub  Him,  Vina?"  asked  the 
kind  old  preacher,  who  strove  in  his  feeble  way  to 
comfort  the  bereaved  one. 

"Yes — yes — brudder  Tom  ;  but  somehow  dese 
old  eyes  can't  see  out  straight.  He  was  all  that 
was  left ;  it  seems  as  how  I  might  hab  dat  one  lit- 
tle head  to  lie  on  dis  lone  bosom  !  It  won't  be  long 
'fore  I  shall  be  'tro  wnd  it  all — and  it  wouldn't  'a' 
hurt  nothin'  if  he  been  lef  till  I  went  home !" 
Tears  mingled  with  her  sobs  as  she  bewailed  her 
loneliness. 

"  De  Lord  say  '  come  unto  me  when  tired  and 
can't  find  nowh-ere  for  de  sole  ob  de  foot,  and  He 
will  gib  you  rest ;"  and  the  good  man  laid  his 
ebony  hand  on  the  bowed  head  as  he  spoke. 

"  Don't  I  know  it,  brudder  Tom  ?  He's  all  right ; 
but  it's  hard  to  bress  de  Lord  when  He  makes  it 
so  dark;  maybe  by  and  by  old  Vina  can  look  up  ! 
If  IMiss  Lillian  was  here  she  would  tell   me   how." 

How  many  have  thus  bent  beneath  the  rod  as 
they  hid  the  light  of  faith  from  them,  "  refusing 
to  be  comforted  "  when  the  pit^nng  Father  was  so 


SCENES   ON    THE   PLANTATION.  IG)) 

ready  to  bind  up  the  heart  His  careful  love  had 
wounded  ?  "  Before  I  was  stricken  I  went  astray  " 
is  the  testimony  of  many  a  happy  soul.  The 
clouds  are  about  us  but  the  sun  shines  above  them 
all. 

Lillian  was  gone  and  Rosedale  somehow  seemed 
deserted  and  dreary.  Perhaps  it  was  because  the 
flowers  were  all  withered  and  nature  seemed  going 
to  sleep ;  at  any  rate  Mrs.  Belmont  and  her  son 
concluded  to  go  to  the  city  immediately,  even 
should  one  or  both  of  them  be  obliged  to  return  to 
the  plantation  during  Christmas  week. 

"  The  servants  always  expect  their  holiday  gifts, 
and  it  would  be  too  bad  to  disappoint  ihem,"  so  the 
mistress  said,  "  but  it  is  insufl"erable  here  !"  Besides, 
Ellen  St.  Clair  was  to  give  a  birthday  entertain- 
ment in  two  or  three  weeks,  and  as  everybody 
hinted  the  betrothal  of  the  fair  heiress  with 
Charles  Belmont  it  really  did  seem  a  necessitv 
that  he  at  least  should  be  there.  The  n.other  of 
the  young  gentleman  also  was  exceedingly  de- 
sirous of  satisfying  herself  upon  this  one  point, 
not  feeling  quite  as  sure  as  the  veracious  "  Mrs. 
Grundy."  The  reason  being,  no  doubt,  that  the 
said  son,  who  had  inherited  from  the  maternal 
side  an  abundance  of  the  very  commendable  ele- 
ment of  secretiveness,  did  not  seem  at  all  disposed 
to  satisfy  any  one  in  regard  to  the  matter  as  he 
understood  it.  Neither  was  the  mother  quite  sure 
that  he  would  from  any  cause  be  peisuaded  to 
sacrifice  any  of  his  self-will  for  her  accommoda- 
tion, for  he  was  fully  aware  that  her  heart  was 
unswervingly  set  on  this  union.  Thus  she  was 
kept  in  ignorance  which  she  was  determined 
should,  if  possible,  be  dispelled.      All  these  things 


IGi  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

were  taken  into  consideration  by  the  intriguing 
mother — and  the  son,  not  at  all  averse  to  the  ar- 
rangements, the  next  week  found  Aunt  Vina  sole 
mistress  of  the  great  house  at  Rosedale. 

Little  Shady  was  in  high  spirits.  Every  da}^ 
the  hall  door  was  thrown  wide  open  for  the  free 
circulation  of  fresh  air,  then  such  a  scrambling  up 
the  broad  stairs  on  all  fours  and  such  rapid  rides 
down  the  heavj^  balustrades!  "Bress  de  chile! 
Can't  see  no  hurt  no  how !  Alissus  say  she  lick 
him,  but  she  don't  see  him!"  and  the  good  old 
grandmother  turned  her  own  head  that  her  eyes 
mio-ht  not  be  at  fault  in  the  matter.  The  love  for 
this  child  was  all  the  earth-spot  the  withered  old 
heart  contained.  All  of  her  children,  not  except- 
ing her  last,  the  mother  of  little  Shady,  had  been 
taken  from  her,  some  by  death,  others  b}-  the 
greedy  hands  that  snapped  the  tenderest  cords  of 
the  human  hearts  that  its  own  mercenary  ends 
might  be  reached.  "  But  it's  a  mercy  dat  I'se  got 
dis  one,"  she  would  often  repeat  to  herself  as  if 
not  quite  sure  of  her  resignation  in  the  matter. 
Certain  it  was  that  the  merry  gambols  of  the 
frolicsome  boy  as  her  loving  eyes  followed  him 
through  the  da}^,  and  the  joy  of  feeling  his  plump 
a'uis  around  her  neck  at  night,  shut  out  in  a  great 
measure  the  dark  agonizing  past  from  her  view. 

Outside  of  the  elegant  appointments  of  the 
home  and  its  surroundings  all  was  left  as  usual  in 
the  hands  of  the  overseer,  who  was  expected  to 
administer  kindness  and  justice  with  wisdom,  if 
not  with  discretion  ;  but  as  Pete  had  often  said  in 
the  quiet  of  Aunt  Vina's  kitchen  fire,  "  Massa 
Fire}'  and  old  Tige  look  jist  like  's  do'  day  was 
brudders,"  and  as  to  disposition  and  characters   it 


SCENES    ON   THE    PLANTATION.  165 

could  not  be  disputed  that  they  were  similar. 
Still,  at  the  "  quarters  "  he  was  not  only  feared  but 
regarded  with  a  kind  of  respect  and  awe.  Three 
weeks  passed  away  and  little  had  been  thought  of 
the  dark  cloud  spreading  itself  over  the  nation,  for 
"MassaFirey"  said  nothing  to  those  under  his 
care,  if  indeed  he  knew  what  was  really  going  on  in 
the  outside  world. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  in  the  cotton-fields, 
for  Mrs.  Belmont  had  said  before  her  departure 
that  Charles  would  want  some  money  and  the 
product  of  the  plantation  must  be  put  into  the 
market  as  soon  as  it  was  open.  Shady  was  in  high 
glee,  snapping  his  whip  at  some  imaginary  in- 
truder about  the  extensive  grounds  or  rolling  his 
hoop,  when  the  sweet  voice  of  the  child  would 
steal  in  through  the  open  windows  and  doors  into 
Aunt  Vina's  kitchen,  awaking  the  worn-out  melo- 
dies of  her  own  heart  which  would  come  forth  in 
answering  chorus.  A  little  curly  head  was  often 
thrust  in  through  some  aperture  near,  when  the 
song  would  suddenly  change  as  the  dark  eyes 
sparkled  with  mock  terror  at  the  words  caught 
from  the  sabbath  services. 

"  Git  away  you  Satan,  fo'  de  Lo'd  is  on  the  way," 

and  the  rotund  figure  of  the  old  grandmother  would 
shake  with  suppressed  merriment. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  BIRTHDAY  ENTERTAINMENT. 

During  the  night,  when  poor  aunt  Vina  was  be- 
moaning her  loss,  very  different  scenes  were  being 
enacted  at  the  residence  of  the  St.  Clairs,  in  which 
Airs.  Belmont  was  happily  participating.  It  was 
the  birthday  of  Ellen  St.  Clair,  the  youngest  and 
pet  of  the  famil}^,  who  had  but  a  few  weeks  prev- 
iously returned  from  New  York,  where  she  had 
been  for  three  years  at  school ;  and  this,  her  tw^en- 
tieth  birthday,  was  to  be  the  occasion  of  unlimited 
enjoyment.  The  grounds  as  well  as  the  mansion 
were  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  the  spacious  apart- 
ments crowded  with  wealth  and  beauty.  Nothing 
was  left  undone  that  could  add  grandeur  to  the 
fete  or  pleasure  to  the  loved  one  for  whom  all  this 
magnificence  and  display  were  brought  out. 

Mrs.  Belmont  was  a  very  particular  friend  and 
distant  relative  of  the  family,  and  therefore  had 
gone  over  at  an  early  hour  that  her  suggestions  and 
experiences  might  not  be  wanting.  She  was  imme- 
diately shown  to  the  private  dressing-room  of  ]\Irs. 
St.  Clair,  who  was  patiently  suffering  under  the 
skillful  hands  of  her  French  dressing-maid. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  glad  that  you  came  so  early. 
Pauline,  ring  the  bell  for  a  servant.  You  see  the 
house  is  to  be  crowded  before  dinner  with  friends 
and  relatives  from  New  Orleans  and  Atlanta,  and 
it  is  as  much  as   I  can  endure  to  be  dressed  three 

167 


1(38       THK  MISTRESS  OF  ROSHDALE. 

times  in  one  da}-.  O  you  need  not  laugh  at  my 
indolence,  as  you  usually  do." 

No  one  laut^'hed,  however,  but    the  lady  herself. 

''  Wh}^  Pauline,  you  make  me  look  like  a  fright," 
she  exclaimed,  catching  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the 
mirror  before  which  she  was  sitting.  "  Can  3'ou 
not  bring  those  puffs  back  a  little  ?" 

"  Ccst  a  la  viodc^  cJierc  Madame^'  replied  the 
maid,  smiling. 

''  You  mean  to  sa}'  by  that,  I  suppose,  that  it  is 
the  latest  style,  and  I  must  submit." 

"  Oui^  niadaiuc  ' 

"  Very  well,  proceed  then  with  the  inevitable," 
and  settling  herself  down  quietly  she  went  on  chat- 
ting with  her  visitor. 

]\Irs.  Mason,  a  widowed  daughter,  who  had  re- 
turned the  37ear  before  to  her  childhood's  home  with 
her  three  little  children,  came  in  for  a  moment, 
then  retreated  as  silentl}^  as  she  entered. 

"  Poor  Bertha,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Belmont,  with 
much  feeling,  "  what  a  look  of  suffering  she  wears 
upon  her  face.  She  seems  to  bemoan  her  loss  now 
as  deeply  as  when  first  bereaved.  How  I  pity 
her!" 

"  Yes,  the  dear  child,  she  misses  her  husband 
much ;  but  I  tell  her  it  is  far  better  to  rejoice  over 
the  living  than  to  mourn  over  the  dead".  Every 
widowed  mother  has  not  three  such  beautiful  and 
interesting  children  as  she.  This,  in  time  will,  I 
have  no  doubt,  take  away  the  acuteness  of  her  sor- 
row, but  we  must  wait  for  the  work  to  be  accom- 
plished." 

"Yes." 

Was  Mrs.  Belmont  thinking  of  the  time  when, 
years  ago,  beautiful  children  nestled  into  the  inner 


THE    BIRTHDAY    ENTERTAINMENT.  169 

chamber  of  her  soul,  which  had  been  desolated  by 
the  hand  of  death  ?  Or  did  her  memory  go  no 
farther  back  than  the  last  parting  scene  with  her 
only  daughter  ?  There  were  many  dark  picture*^ 
that  might  have  been  brought  up,  but  the  volubil- 
ity of  Mrs.  St.  Clair  drove  them  from  her  sight. 
She  continued  : 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  shock  your  sensibilities  very 
much,  but  BUen  has  declared  her  intention  of  bring- 
ing the  governess  out  to-night  as  one  of  her  hon- 
ored guests."  And  the  lady  laughed  heartily  as  she 
looked  into  the  face  of  her  visitor. 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  permit  it,  certainly. 
The  affair  would  be  decidedly  absurd.  You  ought 
most  positively  to  interfere." 

"  But  you  know,  my  dear,  that  I  was  never  em- 
phatic about  anything.  I  have  not  the  needed 
strength  for  a  battle.  And  then,  on  this  occasion, 
I  am  left  perfectly  powerless,  as  her  father  declares 
that  for  this  once  she  shall  have  her  own  way  in 
everything,  just  as  if  she  did  not  always  have  it;" 
added  Mrs.  St.  Clair  with  much  merriment. 

"  But  does  she  not  know  that  she  may  offend 
many  of  her  dear  friends  by  such  folly  ?"  inter- 
posed the  lady  of  Rosedale. 

"  I  imagine  she  cares  but  little  as  to  that ;  she  is 
so  much  like  her  father — and  mother,  too,  it  may 
be ;"  and  the  thick  folds  of  her  rich  brocade  rus- 
tled with  the  contagion  of  her  mirth.  "  The  fact 
is,  cousin,  she  is  such  a  fine  musician  that  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will  be  charmed  with  her  yourself.  To 
be  sure  she  holds  a  menial  position  in  our  home, 
but  I  cannot  help  admiring  and  loving  her  too. 
There  is  something  so  mild  and  unassuming  about 


170  THE    MISTRESS    OK   ROSEDALE. 

her.  I  often  tell  Ellen  tliat  I  wish  she  would  imi- 
tate her  manners." 

"  No  doubt  she  is  well  enough  in  her  place ;  but 
the  drawing-room,  which  is  to  be  filled  with  the 
elegant  and  affluent  who  are  to  come  from  aristo- 
cratic homes,  bringing  with  them  refinement  and 
culture,  must  overshadow  her.  She  ought  certainly 
to  have  sufficient  sense  to  understand  this,  and  re- 
fuse such  j)^^blicity.  Why  not  as  hostess  appeal 
to  her  yourself?  If  she  is  as  amiable  as  you  have 
represented,  she  would  not  act  in  a  way  contrary 
to  your  wishes." 

All  this  was  spoken  hurriedly  and  with  much 
feeling. 

"  I  presume  she  would  ;  but  the  trouble  is  that 
I  have  no  objections.  Under  these  circumstances 
you  will  discover  that  I  would  make  a  poor  deputy 
to  do  the  business  ;"  and  the  merr}^  peals  startled 
the  demure  maid  who  was  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  her  lady's  toilet.  Then  turning  to  the 
mirror  she  continued,  without  giving  her  visitor 
time  to  reply : 

"  There — how  do  I  look  ?  Not  much  like  Venus, 
as  I  can  readily  perceive.  Is  not  that  trail  too 
long  ?  and  these  hoops  too  large  ?  But  it  will  have 
to  do,  I  suppose.  Now  I  will  go  and  see  what  the 
girls  are  doing,  while  Pauline's  skillful  fingers  put 
you  in  order.  I  had  your  dressing  case  brought 
here  so  as  to  be  ready;"  and  the  good  lady  bustled 
out  of  the  room,  leaving  her  cousin  in  no  very  am- 
iable mood. 

At  an  early  hour  the  sound  of  mirth  and  gay- 
ety  was  heard  everywhere  in  the  elegant  home 
of  the  St.  Clairs.  The  drawing-rooms  were  filled 
with  gay,  flitting  forms  which  kept  humming  and 


THE     BIRTHDAY    ENTERTAINMENT.  171 

buzzing  like  a  swarm  of  busy  bees,  mingling  and 
changing  their  bright  colors  until  with  kaleido- 
scopic distinctness  the  last  broocli  was  fastened 
and  each  delicate  toilet  had  received  its  finishing 
touch  from  skillful  hands,  and  on  the  broad  stair- 
way the  tripping  of  feet  and  the  rustling  of  silks 
mingled  with  joyous  laughter  as  the  chorus  of 
many  voices  were  heard  coming  up  from  the  hall 
below.  It  was  a  brilliant  sight !  So  many  happy 
faces  gleaming  with  the  excitement  of  the  hour  as 
they  gathered  together  in  little  circling  eddies  in 
the  drawing-rooms,  radiant  with  gems  which 
flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  full  glare  of  the  over- 
hanging gas-lights  that  glowed  in  subdued  bril- 
liancy upon  them. 

"How  very  strange  !"  was  heard  from  many  a 
rosy  lip  that  night  as  familiar  friends  met  in  sly 
nooks  where  confidential  words  could  be  inter- 
changed. It  was  true  that  Ellen  St.  Clair  had 
never  appeared  at  such  an  entertainment  so  plainly 
dressed  ;  what  could  it  mean  ?  A  rumor  had  been 
floating  about  purporting  to  have  originated  with 
her  sister  Bertha  "that  it  was  to  please  some  one," 
but  who  was  the  honored  one  ?  Then  there  came 
the  response.  "  A  governess  who  had  declared 
her  dislike  to  appear  in  so  large  a  company  be- 
cause of  her  unfitting  toilet !"  But  why  this  should 
so  strangely  influence  the  "pretty  heiress"  was 
still  a  mystery.  "And  where  was  the  governess?" 
No  one  was  more  eager  to  be  satisfied  on  this  point 
than  was  Mrs.  Belmont ;  and  no  one  was  more 
anxious  to  hide  that  desire  which  so  fretted  her. 

"  I  never  saw  Miss  Ellen  look  prettier  or  fresher 
than  she  does  to-night,"  remarked  a  gentleman  to 
the  captivating  young  Mrs.  Mason.  "  That  spotless 


172  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

dress  of  A.vliite  becomes  her  air}-  figure  and  com- 
bines with  her  purit}^  of  look  and  manner.  Her 
appearance  is  truly  etherial — and  that  one  diamond 
star  at  the  throat  reminds  me  of  something  in  the 
good  book  ni}^  mother  used  to  read !  In  fact  I  like 
it."  A  toss  of  the  regal  head  beside  him  was  the 
only  answer.  "  I  am  sorry,  however,  that  her  mo- 
tive for  throwing  aside  her  little  feminine  adornings 
is  so  much  beneath  her,"  continued  the  young  man 
with  some  volubilit3^  "  But  where  /s  the  gover- 
ness? I  beg  pardon  !"  and  the  head  of  the  speaker 
bowed  low  with  mock  seriousness. 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir ;  I  have  not  troubled  m3'self 
about  her  !"  was  the  haughty  repl}-.  "  Excjuisite  ! 
Pray  tell  me  who  is  that  at  the  piano  ?  A  won- 
derful voice  !  So  sweet  and  flexible  !"  exclaimed 
a  lady  near  where  the  two  were  standing.  "  Lis- 
ten !     I  wish  I  could  get  a  peep  at  her  !" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Belmont 
who  had  been  addressed.  "  I  will  inquire,"  and 
she  pressed  her  way  through  the  crowd  and  was 
lost  from  sight  by  the  enraptured  listeners.  The 
melodious  voice  soared  aloft  in  little  rippling 
eddies  to  die  away  in  the  distance,  then  fell  like 
liquid  drops  of  silvery  cadence  upon  the  ear,  while 
it  hushed  into  silence  the  sound  of  mingling  voices 
until  the  spacious  apartments  were  filled  with 
naught  but  the  wonderful  music  of  the  unknown 
singer.  Mrs.  Belmont  had  made  her  wa}^  to  a 
group  of  grave  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  the  parlor 
opposite,  where  they  had  been  discussing  the  great 
topic  of  the  day. 

"  I  cannot  see  well,"'  replied  Mrs.  St.  Clair  with 
a  merry  twinkle  in  her  gray  ej^es  as  she  returned 
to  the  sofa  she  had  just  left  to  look  about  her  for 


THE    BIRTHDAY     ENTERTAINMENT.  173 

a  moment.  "  But  it  is  some  one  Professor  Edwards 
seems  to  honor,  for  he  is  beside  her  turning  the 
music.  Ah,  there  is '  cathesdra  ' — listen,"  and  the 
same  voice  came  floating  and  circling  about  their 
heads  in  the  very  ecstacy  of  delight. 

''You  never  heard  that  ^//;/^  before  ;"  interposed 
Mr.  St.  Clair  laughingly.     "I  mean  as  now !" 

"You  know  who  it  is,  cousin;  tell  us,  will 
you?"  But  Mr.  St.  Clair  was  wholly  intent  upon 
the  music  and  only  shook  his  finger  menacingly 
at  Mrs.  Belmont  for  interrupting  it. 

"There!  That  is  over!  Now  who  says  he 
ever  heard  anything  better  than  that?"  and  the 
kind-hearted  old  gentleman  gazed  appealingly 
about  him. 

"  Let  me  see,  cousin.  What  was  it  3'ou  were  say- 
ing about  the  '  uncultured  females '  of  the  north? 
Well,  I  remember  but  will  not  repeat,  so  you 
may  save  your  blushes,"  and  his  plump  hand 
came  down  with  emphasis  upon  his  well-developed 
knee.  "  Yes — they  do  soil  their  fingers  with  toil 
it  is  a  fact.  Ellen  has  often  spoken  of  her  visit  to 
the  home  of  a  schoolmate  who  lives  on  the  banks 
of  the  old  historic  Hudson,  and  she  declares  that 
the  home  into  which  she  was  ushered  on  her  ar- 
rival was  superior  to  almost  anything  she  had 
seen  in  our  sunny  clime  ;  but  the  mistress  many 
times  during  her  stay  of  two  weeks  actually  made 
tea  with  her  own  hands  and  served  it  at  her  own 
table !  And  what  was  even  worse,  there  was  not 
a  day  that  she  did  not  visit  her  kitchen — order 
her  own  dinner — and,  it  may  be,  stuffed  her  own 
turkeys — made  her  own  jellies,  puddings,  etc. !  I 
should  not  be  at  all  surprised !"  Here  the  speaker 
burst  forth  into  a  merry  peal  of  laughter,  which 


174  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

did  not  seem  at  all  contagious  as  no  one  but  the 
wife  joined  in  his  glee.  "  Ah,  there  is  the  singer. 
I  know  her  by  the  blue  silk,"  interposed  one  of 
the  ladies  who  had  striven  to  get  a  look  at  her 
while  she  was  at  the  piano.  "  Prof.  Edwards 
seems  to  monopolize  her  entirely."  "  She  is  very 
pretty,"  remarked  another.  "  All  but  those  blue 
eyes,"  chimed  in  Tvlr.  St.  Clair ;  "  those  tell  the 
tale  of  frosts  and  snows — do  ^-ou  not  think  so, 
cousin?" 

"  You  annoy  me,  somehow,"  said  Mrs.  Belmont 
with  much  feeling ;  "  perhaps  it  is  because  I  do 
not  understand  yoii.  I  would  like  to  cover  your 
lack  of  gallantrj^  with  a  soft  cloak  of  charity  you 
see." 

"  It  is  the  war,  madam,  that  had  fired  his  bitter 
animosities,"  suggested  a  gallant  knight  near  by. 

"  Have  I  indeed  then  been  so  boorish?  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  and  he  bowed  obsequiously.  "  Now 
for  plain  dealing,  as  I  feel  you  will  like  that  bet- 
ter !  The  young  lady  to  whom  we  have  been  so 
rapturously  listening,  and  who  has  drawm  such  a 
large  circle  about  her  yonder,"  pointing  with  his 
finger  towards  where  she  was  sitting,  "  including 
your  honored  son,  I  perceive,  is  Miss  Anna  Pier- 
son — our  governess.  Look  at  her  now  !  Her  face 
is  like  her  music,  all  soul,  all  feeling.  Now  clear 
and  smooth  with  the  most  exquisite  pathos,  yet 
never  blank  or  uninteresting  ;  now  brilliant  and 
sparkling,  rippling  all  over  with  enthusiasm ;  a 
face  one  never  tires  of  watching  through  all  its 
changes  ;  never  growing  weary  no  matter  how  often 
the  repetition  comes. 

Immediately  after  supper  Mrs.  Belmont  ordered 
her  carriage.     She  was  anxious  to  return  and  bury 


THE     BIRTHDAY    ENTERTAINMENT.  175 

her  chagrin  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  chamber. 
Why  was  she  so  wretched  ?  She  asked  herself 
over  and  over  again,  yet  received  no  definite  an- 
swer. It  might  be  that  a  gentleman  with  whom 
she  had  been  talking  assured  her  that  the  war  so 
much  commented  upon  could  not,  or  would  not  be 
averted.  *' Kven  now,"  he  added,  "extensive  pre- 
parations are  going  on  in  Charleston  for  its  early 
commencement."  But  certainly  this  could  not  be 
the  cause  of  her  disquietude,  as  she  scanned  over 
the  immensity  of  southern  political  power.  After 
all  that  has  been  done  the  fight  must  be  short  and 
the  victory  speedy  and  glorious.  The  pall  lifted 
slowly  from  about  her  heart,  and  before  she  reached 
her  own  door  she  stigmatized  herself  as  a  coward 
for  retiring  so  soon  from  the  gay  scene,  appearing, 
as  she  imagined,  like  retreating  before  a  phantom 
foe.  In  her  own  room,  however,  the  fire  broke  out 
anew.  There  was  something  in  the  tones  of  her 
cousin's  voice  that  angered  her.  "  What  right 
had  he  to  allude  to  my  words,  spoken  in  private, 
and  display  my  peculiar  views,  as  he  called  them, 
before  such  a  company?  But  above  all,  what 
could  have  induced  Charles  to  hand  that  destesta- 
ble  governess  to  the  table  and  leave  Ellen  St.  Clair 
to  another?"  Nothing  had  gone  right,  and  the 
indignant  woman  paced  the  floor  goaded  by  her  ag- 
itating thoughts  until  the  footsteps  of  her  offend- 
ing son  were  heard  entering  his  room.  How  true 
it  is  that  when  the  heart  opens  its  "guest  chamber" 
to  evil  spirits  and  gives  them  welcome,  it  will  wake 
ere  long  to  find  its  most  sacred  place  invaded,  and 
its  halls  of  innocence  desecrated  by  the  madness  of 
associated  passions  that  come  to  take  up  their  abode 
in  it !     Poor  heart !     What  a  struggle  for    purity 


17G 


THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDAEE. 


must  follow  with  opposing  foes  before  it  ever  again 
becomes  a  fit  temple  for  the  high  dignitaries  of  a 
God-like  nature  to  enter  and  dwell  in  !  Better  far 
to  bar  the  door  at  their  first  approach  and  set  its 
seal  of  truth  and  nobleness  upon  it  which,  like  the 
"  blood  of  sprinkling,"  turns  awa}^  the  footsteps  of 
Death  with  his  destructive  power.  Alas,  with  Mrs. 
Belmont  it  was  too  late.  vShe  had  not  counted  the 
cost  of  her  misdeeds  from  the  beginning,  and  now 
found  herself  in  a  !ab3^rinth  of  difficulties  that  were 
thickening  about  her,  and  out  of  which  see  could 
see  no  way  of  escape. 

She  was  angry,  too,  for  Bertha  had  said  that 
Ellen  was  indiofuant  that  her  name  should  have 
been  coupled  in  an  outside  gossip  with  that  of  her 
son,  and  had  improved  every  opportunit}^  to  con- 
tradict the  rumor.  Here  was  another  disappoint- 
ment to  be  thrown  into  her  cherished  plans;  and 
the  very  depths  of  her  soul  seemed  embittered. 

Chafing  under  the  accumulating  power  of  her 
goading  thoughts,  she  walked  her  room  \vith  rapid 
steps,  while  her  angry  soul  went  down  among  the 
roaring  billows. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    THRILLING    REVELATION. 

Charles  Belmont  was  twenty-six  years  of  age 
at  the  time  of  our  writing,  but  owing  to  the  indo- 
lence of  his  disposition  and  the  selfishness  which 
had  always  governed  him,  he  had  not  as  yet  stepped 
into  the  position  as  "  master  "  of  the  plantation  to 
which  he  supposed  himself  heir  ;  nor  had  he  trou- 
bled himself  regarding  his  prosperity.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  know  that  a  hundred  pairs  of 
hands  were  laboring  for  his  comfort  and  fully  ca- 
pable of  supplying  every  desired  luxury.  "Mother 
has  never  failed  me  yet,''  he  would  say,  "  and  when 
she  does  it  will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  dabble  in 
business." 

Thus  did  the  years  roll  by  while  his  manli- 
uess  became  more  and  more  engulfed  in  the  leth- 
argy of  indolence  until  his  whole  being  was  ener- 
vated and  possessed  not  the  power  to  sever  the 
manacles  that  were  destroying  the  pure  and  noble 
within,  even  had  he  the  disposition  to  do  so.  How' 
many  efficient  natures  have  thus  been  destroyed ! 
The  soul  of  man  is  progressive  ;  it  is  ambitious  to 
go  onward  and  upward  ;  fetter  these  propensities, 
press  them  down,  and  the  whole  being  becomes 
groveling,  its  aspirations  dwarfed  or  twisted  in  the 
process.  The  mind  is  conscious  of  an  unrest,  and 
with  its  unsatisfied  longings,  turns  away  from  the 

177 


178  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

ennobling  and  fills  itself  with  debasing  habits  that 
will  certainly  prostitnte  all  loftier  aspirations. 
Charles  Belmont  had  not,  however,  sunk  so  low  as 
all  this.  But  with  his  most  frivolous  wants  sup- 
plied, and  the  prospect  of  a  large  estate  before  him, 
wh}^  should  he  be  perplexed  about  anything  ?  He 
had  gone  through  college,  as  thousands  of  others 
had  done  before  him,  had  spent  two  3'ears  in  Eu- 
rope seeing  what  in  his  opinion  was  worth  looking 
at,  and  now  what  was  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  look 
out  for  an  heiress  or  some  one  worthy  to  share  his 
honors,  or  wait  while  he  smoked  his  meerschaum 
or  sipped  his  wine  after  the  physical  part  of  his 
nature  had  been  satisfied  b}-  the  bounties  which 
menial  hands  had  provided  ? 

The  next  day  after  the  events  of  our  last  chap- 
ter, the  young  master  of  Rosedale  learned  from  his 
mother  that  for  the  first  time  since  his  remem- 
brance the  slaves  were  to  be  disappointed  in  their 
Christmas  gifts,  as  the  lady  declared  she  "  would 
not  trouble  herself  about  them." 

This  piece  of  information  aroused  the  better  feel- 
ings of  the  son,  who  immediately  set  about  pro- 
viding himself  with  the  means  to  carr}^  out  in  its 
fullness  the  long  established  custom  that  would 
make  more  than  three  score  hearts  happy.  It  was 
a  frail  spirit,  however,  that  aroused  for  the  first 
time  the  slumbering  attributes  of  his  better  nature. 

"  If  such  is  3'our  determination,  mother,"  was 
the  quick  reply,  "  then  I  shall  for  once  perform 
your  duties  for  ^^ou."  And,  true  to  his  resolve, 
Christmas  morning  found  him  standing  amid  well 
filled  baskets  at  the  end  of  the  long  corridor  lead- 
ing to  the  kitchen,  looking   upon   the  happy  faces 


A    THRILLING    REVELATION.  179 

of  the  inerr}^  group  as  he  called  their  names,  and 
with  a  cheery  word  or  jest  presented  their  gifts. 

"  Where  is  old  auntie  ?"  he  inquired  at  last,  as 
the  sable  faces  one  by  one  turned  away,  and  he  was 
being  left  alone.  "  And  here  is  a  drum  for  Shady, 
but  he  must  promise  not  to  make  too  much  noise 
with  it  before  I  shall  hand  it  over  to  him.  Here, 
Shady,  you  rascal,  where  are  you?"  he  continued, 
holding  up  the  exhilarating  toy.  Poor  old  auntie 
came  out  from  the  kitchen  and  walked  slowly  to- 
wards him. 

"  O  massa.  Shady  am  dead — gone — and  poor  old 
Vina's  heart  is  done  broke.  I  don'  want  nothin', 
massa,  on'y  dat  what  ye  got  fer  him.  Let  auntie 
have  it — 'twon't  make  no  noise."  She  reached  out 
her  hand  for  the  coveted  prize,  and  again  Charles 
Belmont  felt  the  promptings  of  the  inward  nobil- 
ity that  makes  the  man.  Those  plaintive  words 
that  came  sobbing  up  from  the  wounded,  bleeding 
heart,  all  dripping  with  tears,  touched  a  chord  of 
sympathy  in  his  own,  hitherto  unknown  to  its 
possessor. 

"  How  did  this  happen  ?"  he  asked  quickly,  "and 
why  was  not  my  mother  informed  of  an  event  so 
important  ?  Something  is  wrong.  How  did  little 
Shady  die?" 

"'  Don'  know,  massa.  He's  done  dead.  It's 
night  all  de  time  now  ;  dere  aint  no  more  sunshine 
for  poor  old  auntie.  Will  ye  gib  me  dat,  massa  ? 
I  coiildnU  hear  de  chil'ens  makin'  a  noise  on  it — 
'twould  be  like  dey  was  poundin'  dis  heart,  all 
broke,  Massa  Charles.    Couldn't  bear  it — no  how." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  auntie,"  he  said,  with  much 
feeling,  as  he  placed  the  toy  drum  in  the  out- 
stretched hands.     "  I  do  not  wonder  it  is  dark,  and 


180  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

if  Massa  diaries  can  scatter  a  few  rays  of  liglit 
across   your  sorrow,  be  sure  lie  will  do  it." 

"  O  tliank  ye  ;  thank  3^e,  IMassa  Charles.  The 
Lord  will  bless  ye,  Vina  knows  he  will,"  and  the 
poor  old  slave  returned  again  to  her  night  of  dreary 
loneliness. 

It  was  a  little  transient  ray  that  had  been  sent 
athwart  her  darkness,  and  no  one  understood  its 
fleetingness  better  than  did  she. 

The  next  da}-  Charles  Belmont  went  again  to  the 
scenes  of  pleasure  he  had  so  unceremoniousl}^  left, 
but  he  could  not  forget  the  bitter  potion  the  cup  of 
others  cantained.  For  a  long  time  "  poor  old 
auntie's  "  wail  of  bereavement  would  dart  into  his 
pleasures  and  leave  a  touch  of  sadness  upon  their 
brightness. 

On  reaching  Savannah  he  found  that  his  mother 
had  gone  with  the  St.  Clairs  to  spend  a  week  on  a 
plantation  about  thirty  miles  distant,  and  accept- 
ing the  invitation  left  for  him,  he  prepared  to  fol- 
low. It  was  a  lovely  morning  when  the  party  set 
out  on  their  sliort  journe3^  They  had  determined 
upon  a  carriage-ride  for  the  whole  distance,  while 
the  others  went  by  rail  as  far  as  they  could,  and 
were  waiting  for  the  carriage  to  overtake  them. 
George  St.  Clair,  his  sister  Ellen  and  Miss  Pierson 
composed  the  little  party,  as  they  wheeled  over  the 
hard  road  as  fast  as  the  spirited  horses  could  take 
them,  while  the  cool,  fresh  breeze  invigorated  their 
young  spirits. 

"  This  air  may  be  a  little  too  bracing;  shall  I 
not  have  the  curtains  unrolled?"  asked  George  St. 
Clair. 

"O  no,  indeed!"  replied  Miss  Pierson  who  was 
addressed ;  "  this  reminds  me  of  a   spring  day  in 


A   THRILLING    REVELATION.  181 

the  north  when  there  is  snow  yet  upon  the  moun- 
tains while  the  valleys  are  green," 

"  Perfectly  natural  that  it  should,  for  this  wind 
comes  directly  from  your  snow-capped  hills;"  was 
the  answer,  while  the  young  man  experienced  a 
ver}^  perceptible  shiver.  "I  wish  it  were  not  quite 
so  cold!" 

"  You  would  soon  learn  to  like  it  as  I  do  !  Do 
you  perceive  it  has  given  me  new  life  already? 
But  I  have  discovered  my  selfishness!  Please  put 
dowu  the  curtains  for  you  are  looking  quite  mis- 
erable," she  concluded,  as  she  noticed  on  the  face 
opposite  an  expression  not  usual  to  it.  It  was  his 
thoughts,  not  the  cool  breeze  however  that  had 
chilled  him.  The  raillery  of  his  sister  recalled  him, 
and  he  for  a  time  put  away  the  absorbing  subject. 
"  Look  Ellen  !  Really  that  pile  of  brush  and  mud 
yonder  is  inhabited !  Just  see  what  miserable 
creatures  are  coming  out  of  it.  One — two — three  ! 
I  wonder  if  that  can  be  the  mother  now  following. 
She  looks  half-starved  and  utterly  dejected  !  Do 
look  at  them,  Ellen  !" 

"  You  must  not  expend  all  your  sympathy  on 
that  one  family,"  remarked  Ellen  carelessly  ;  "  for 
you  will  see  them  all  along  the  road.  These  be- 
long to  the  '  poor  white  trash,'  as  the  coachman 
would  tell  you  with  a  curl  of  his  ebony  lip.  They 
are  a  small  portion  of  that  miserable  class  who 
are  so  thoroughly  steeped  in  degradation  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  improving  them." 

Anna  made  no  reply,  but  sat  a  long  time 
silently  gazing  out  of  the  carriage  window.  Ellen 
too  was  silent,  while  their  companion  watched  the 
speaking  face  of  the  humble  governess  as  its  color 
came    and    went    like    the  sunshine  and  shadows 


182  THE    .AIISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALR 

through  which  they  were  passing.  At  last  she 
awoke  as  from  a  dream,  and  lajdng  her  glo\ed 
hand  upon  that  of  George  St.  Clair  exclaimed  : 
"You  are  good  and  noble!  Tell  me,  is  there  no 
remedy  for  all  this?  I  have  heard  so  much  of 
these  while  in  my  northern  home  that  ni}-  heart 
trul}'  aches  for  them  !  To  be  so  utterly  outcast  as 
the  family  appears  to  be  that  we  have  just  passed, 
and  without  the  ambition  or  power  to  rise  out  of 
it,  is  truly  pitiful !  What  sad  blots  on  the  grand 
picture  of  American  civilization !  Is  there  no 
remedy  ?" 

"  No  renied}' !"  was  the  low  repl3^  They  seemed 
to  be  the  echo  onl}-  of  her  own  words  and  brought 
with  them  no  consolation.  "  Pardon  me,"  he  said 
a  moment  after ;  "  we  shall  get  dreadfull}^  en- 
tangled in  a  web  of  own  weaving  if  we  continue  on 
this  train  of  thought.  Let  us  weave  a  few  brighter 
garlands  for  memorj-'s  sake  in  the  remaining  da3^s 
I  am  to  be  with  you.  We  will  talk  of  peace  lest 
war  should  send  its  mutterings  among  us ;  let  us 
anticipate  love,  not  hate!  Miss  Pierson,  I  depu- 
tize you  to  gather  up  the  straj-  sunbeams  for  me 
that  memory  may  have  a  regal  crown  to  wear 
when  I  am  far  awa3\  They  elude  my  grasp  and 
always  did!"  he  continued,  bitterly.  "  But  j'ou 
seem  to  be  more  fortunate." 

"And  I  am  to  be  left  out,  am  I,  my  brother? 
You  do  not  know  how  expert  I  am  in  chasing  but- 
terflies and  riding  on  sunbeams!  You  may  better 
engage  me  !" 

"  I  would  like  to  have  you  both  interested  in 
this  benevolent  work,"  he  replied.  "  Still  you  are 
aware,  Ellen,  that  I  have  very  little  regard  for 
butterflies,  and  beg  that  you  will  not  put  yourself 


A   THRILLING    REVELATION.  183 

to  any  extra  trouble  to  procure  one  for  me  ;"  and 
they  rode  on  in  silence  for  some  minutes.  "  Ten 
miles  as  sure  as  you  live  and  we  have  not  thought 
of  our  lunch,"  he  cried,  a  little  later,  as  they 
wheeled  by  the  corners  of  a  cross  road.  "  We 
must  examine  the  hamper  for  good  old  Katie's 
sake,  if  not  for  our  own."  Ample  justice  was  done 
to  Aunt  Katie's  skill  amid  jests  and  laughter 
while  the  gloomy  clouds  that  had  flecked  each 
heart  were  forgotten. 

The  station  was  reached  at  last  and  the  four 
ladies  were  soon  snugly  seated  in  the  family  coach, 
while  the  gentlemen  followed  in  a  hired  vehicle. 
It  was  almost  night  when  the  travelers  found 
themselves  at  their  journey's  end. 

The  residence  of  the  "  Washburns  "  was  a  large 
ancient  house,  for  it  had  been  the  home  of  the  father 
who  had  bequeathed  it  to  the  son  many  years 
before  with  an  abundance  of  hospitalit}^  and  good 
cheer,  as  our  visitors  were  soon  made  to  under- 
stand. The  ladies  were  hurried  off  to  their  warm, 
comfortable  rooms  to  prepare  for  dinner,  which 
had  been  waiting  for  "  two  whole  hours "  the 
hostess  had  said,  and  now  she  bustled  about  the 
dining-room  to  see  that  everything  was  in  perfect 
order  and  the  finishing  touches  had  been  com- 
pleted. All  were  gathered  in  the  parlors  at  last, 
merry  and  refreshed,  and  as  Mrs.  St.  Clair  pro- 
tested they  were  dreadfully  hungry  after  their  long 
cold  ride. 

"  What  a  brilliant  party  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wash- 
burn, entering  at  the  moment  to  announce  dinner; 
"  and  yet,  my  dear  Airs.  St.  Clair,  I  have  not  told 
you  that  my  brother's  wife,  Mrs.  Gaylord,  is  here 


184       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

from  Virginia !  You  remember  you  met  her  two 
years  ago." 

"  That  is  good  news,  certainly.  I  did  not  know 
that  she  had  returned  from  the  north,  where  she 
went  after  fresh  air  I  believe." 

"She  has  an  adopted  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl 
who  has  brightened  her  up  wonderfull3\  I  never 
saw  an  oiuii  daughter  more  idolized." 

]\Irs.  Gaylord  my  readers  have  met  before  ;  will 
the}^  also  recognize  the  adopted  daughter  ?  She 
is  almost  a  young  lady  now,  having  been  with  her 
new  friends  nearly  two  years,  and,  during  the 
time,  received  every  opportunity  for  improvement, 
not  one  of  which  had  been  lost.  She  is  taller  than 
when  we  last  met  her,  her  manners  winning  and 
graceful,  while  her  eyes  had  not  forgotten  their 
mysterious  wonderings  or  her  heart  its  ambitious 
longings.  At  this  home  in  the  far  south  where 
she  had  been  nearly  a  week  there  was  much  upon 
which  to  feed  her  sensibilities  and  awaken  her 
imaginings. 

"  /go  in  for  making  mone^^  off  from  my  planta- 
tion," remarked  the  host  in  reply  to  a  suggestion 
from  one  of  the  party  as  they  seated  themselves  at 
the  table  when  all  were  at  last  gathered.  "  I  long 
ago  learned  who  is  king  over  this  broad  land,  and 
like  well  to  do  my  share  in  keeping  the  crown  on 
his  head."  A  hearty  laugh  followed  when  he  con- 
tinued: "  And  if  this  w^ar,  which  is  so  much 
talked  of  just  now,  should  reall}^  become  a  fact,  I 
reckon  some  others  will  feel  his  power." 

"  You  must  be  chary  of  your  words,  sir,  for  we 
have  a  northerner  in  our  party,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Belmont,  her  keen  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  Anna 
Pierson,  which  crimsoned  beneath  her  gaze. 


A    THRILLING    REVELATION.  185 

'  Miss  Pierson  s  principles,  whatever  they  are, 
must  be  shielded  from  irony  or  ridicule  while  in  our 
party,"  said  George  St  Clair,  with  some  warmth, 
although  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  intended  for  Mrs. 
Belmont's  ears  only. 

The  lad}^  was  awed  and  silenced.  She  would 
_ot  for  the  world  offend  the  young  man,  for  in  him 
too  many  of  her  fondest  hopes  were  still  centered. 
She  had  not  for  a  moment  given  up  the  idea  that 
Lillian  would,  after  a  little  sensible  considera- 
tion, accede  to  her  wishes  and  recall  her  rejected 
lover,  whom  she  was  sure  only  waited  permission 
to  return. 

The  conversation  soon  became  sprightly  and  an- 
imated, but  the  ladies  remained  silent,  while  the 
face  of  one,  at  least,  expressed  more  than  words 
could  utter. 

A  movement  to  leave  the  table  by  George  St. 
Clair  put  an  end  to  it  all,  and  it  was  not  resumed 
while  the  little  party  remained  together. 

Upon  entering  the  parlor  Mrs.  Belmont  found 
herself  tete  a  tete  with  the  young  lady  from  Vir- 
ginia. The  company  had  gathered  themselves 
into  little  groups  or  pairs,  and  each  seemed  intent 
upon  some  individual  topic  separate  from  the  oth- 
ers, and  nothing  was  left  for  the  stately  lady  to  do 
but  to  commence  conversation  with  her  companion 
or  remain  moodily  silent,  which  she  felt  greatly 
inclined  to  do.  However,  her  position  required 
action,  and  she  inquired  : 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  Virginia?  I  un- 
derstand that  you  are  an  adopted  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Gaylord." 

"  That  is  all.  I  have  been  with  her  not  yet  two 
years." 


186  THE    MIvSTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

The  answer  was  concise  and  gentle.  Still  the 
deep,  thoughtful  eyes  that  had  remained  fixed  with 
their  wondering  look  on  the  face  of  the  questioner 
as  she  spoke,  disturbed  the  lad}-,  and  she  moved 
uneasily.  Somehow  it  penetrated  more  deepl}'  un- 
der the  covering  of  her  soul  than  was  comfortable, 
but  she  continued : 

"  Where  was  3'our  previous  home,  my  child  ?" 

"  In  Massachusetts." 

"Ah,  a  Northerner,  then?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  interrogated  with 
a  smile. 

"  Not  knoM-  ?     You  are  an  orphan  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

At  almost  an}^  other  time  Lily  would  have  been 
indignant  at  such  close  questionings,  but  there 
was  something  about  the  tall  stately  lady  in  black 
that  interested  her  and  during  the  few  moments 
they  had  sat  there  together  she  had  read  much  in 
the  dark  face  before  her.  Therefore,  when  she 
was  asked  further  :  "  Have  you  no  remembrance  of 
a  mother  or  of  early  years  ?"  she  determined  to 
prolong  the  conversation,  and  watch  closely  for  a 
peep   beneath  the  mask  she  felt  sure  was  there. 

"  No,  I  do  not  remember  ni}'  mother,  and  very 
little  about  my  childhood.  There  are,  however,  a 
few  bright  memories  I  have  treasured  on  account 
of  their  distinctness,  and  which  will  never  leave 
me.  The  rest  of  my  life,  before  I  was  six  3'ears 
of  age,  is  but  a  dream." 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Belmont  were  fixed  with  their 
burning  gaze  upon  the  face  of  the  speaker,  and 
although  her  heart  beat  more  quickly  and  the  color 
deepened  on  her  cheek,  yet  she  did  not  quail  or 
remove  her  own  calm  look  from  them. 


A    THRILLING    REVELATION.  187 

"  A  little  deeper,"  she  thought,  "  and  curiosit}^ 
will  be  satisfied."  Ah!  how  little  you  know  those 
hidden  depths  !  The  bloom  would  die  on  that  full 
round  sheek,  and  the  light  of  the  joyous  eyes 
would  be  quenched  could  their  gaze  penetrate 
that  external  covering  of  affability.  Therefore 
be  content. 

"What  are  those  memories,  child?  Tell  me 
all." 

Lily  hesitatea  lor  a  moment.  The  command 
embodied  in  the  request  disturbed  her  not  a  little, 
but  she  silenced  her  heart  and  continued  : 

"  I  remember  being  in  a  small  cottage  by  the 
great  ocean  somewhere  ;  I  do  not  know  where,  and 
of  being  unhappy,  j^et  there  were  bright  spots  here 
and  there,  standing  out  with  such  brilliancy  that 
the  darkness  seems  hidden  by  them.  I  loved  the 
ocean,  and  as  I  learned  the  fact  that  at  some  time 
I  had  been  called  '  Lily  Pearl,'  this  awoke  in  me 
most  inconceivable  emotions  ;  for  this  reason,  no 
doubt,  connected  with  a  little  dream  that  I  had 
lived  down  among  the  pearls,  and  that  a  beautiful 
lad}/  had  picked  me  up  from  the  waves — that 
dream  made  me  love  the  music  of  its  waters  and 
long  to  become  a  part  of  the  mighty  whole.  But 
you  are  ill !" 

She  was  about  to  spring  from  her  seat  when 
an  iron  grasp  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder  and  a 
husky  voice  demanded  her  to  "  sit  down  !"  Still 
they  could  not  remain  longer  unnoticed,  and  were 
soon  surrounded. 

"  The  ride  was  too  much  for  you,"  suggested  the 
hostess. 

"  It  is  sitting  in  such  a  warm  room  after  being 
out  in  the  cold,"  suggested  another,  all   of  which 


188 


THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 


met  with  no  contradiction,  and  excusing  herself, 
Mrs.  Belmont  retired  to  her  private  room.  There 
we  will  leave  her  alone  with  her  wretchedness  and 
remorse.  Dreary  companions  are  they  both  through 
the  long  hours  of  one  wearisome  night ;  but  when 
the  morning  draws  near,  and  we  find  that  no  kind 
hand  for  us  to  clasp  is  reached  down  through  the 
dreary  shades,  the  gray  dawn  shrinks  back  and  the 
dark  pall  of  despair  drops  its  thick  folds  around 
us,  shutting  out  the  glorious  day  beams  from  our 
vision,  while  the  night  of  the  soul  still  goes  on  ! 
Wearisome  night !  full  of  spectral  forms  which 
glide  in  and  out  through  the  darkness,  bringing 
from  the  past  unwished  for  memories  which  tell 
us  ever  of  what  we  are  and  what  we  might  have 
been. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   LITTLE    PARTY   AT   THE   WASHBURNS. 

Rose,  the  youngest  and  only  unmarried  of  the 
three  daughters,  was  not  at  home  on  the  arrival  of 
the  visitors.  She  came  the  next  day,  however,  as 
was  expected. 

"  The  same  wild  Rose  as  ever,"  the  father  ex- 
claimed, as  he  lifted  her  from  the  carriage  and  con- 
tinued to  look  after  her,  as  she  bounded  up  the 
steps  of  the  piazza,  upsetting  a  little  urchin  on  the 
way,  sending  him  rolling  down  among  the  shrub- 
bery at  its  foot,  without  stopping  to  heed  the  piti- 
ful cry  that  came  up  from  the  thick  shade  any 
more  than  she  did  the  familiar  salutation  of  her 
father.  Yet  this  insensibility  is  not  unusual  to 
that  class  of  young  ladies  who  have  been  reared 
from  childhood  under  the  destroying  influences  of 
"  caste,"  wherever  it  can  be  found.  Why  should 
it  be  otherwise  ?  The  first  impression  made  upon 
the  susceptible  heart  is,  "  I  am  your  superior ; 
wealth  and  inherited  power  have  determined  our 
positions.  Wealth  and  poverty  cannot  affiliate." 
Thus  does  the  cultivating  of  selfishness  begin 
which  grows  and  expands  until  its  hard,  crooked, 
knotty  branches  reach  out  and  smother  the  more 
tender  plants  of  kindness  and  love,  which  must  by 
necessity  droop  and  become  wholly  extinct.  Yet 
Rose   Washburn    was   not   wholly  cruel  or  selfish. 

189 


190  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

She  had  been  used  to  seeing  the  little  dark  forms 
that  sprung  up  everywhere  all  over  the  plantation 
rolling  about  from  accident  or  design.  "It  did 
not  seem  to  hurt  them,"  therefore  the  silver}'  chords 
of  tenderness  and  love  which  ever  make  such  sweet 
music  in  the  truly  feminine  heart,  had  ceased 
to  vibrate  as  the}^  always  do  when  the  spirit  of  self- 
ishness rusts  and  corrodes  them. 

"  The  same  wild  Rose  of  two  3-ears  ago,"  echoed 
Mr.  St.  Clair,  as  he  met  her  in  the  door,  imprint- 
ing a  kiss  on  her  cheek. 

"  I  should  think  3-ou  would  not  dare  touch  me, 
for  fear  of  being  scratched,"  she  replied,  pettishly, 
as  she  bounded  past  him  into  the  hall. 

The  young  lady  was  not  aware  that  Anna  Pier- 
son,  the  governess,  was  one  of  the  guests  she  was 
expected  to  entertain,  until  entering  the  parlor  a 
half-hour  after  her  arrival.  It  was  a  flict  not  at 
all  anticipated  b}-  the  part}'  themselves  when  the 
invitation  was  accepted,  but  George  St.  Clair  most 
frankly  expressed  the  opinion  that  it  was  a  shame 
to  give  her  no  pleasure  during  the  short  vacation, 
and  there  was  no  reason  under  the  sun  why  she 
should  not  take  the  place  of  Bertha,  who  had  pos- 
itively refused  to  accompau}^  them,  which  Ellen 
echoed  with  great  earnestness.  There  were  mau}^ 
misgivings,  however,  in  the  mind  of  the  hum- 
ble Anna  as  to  the  propriety  of  accepting,  after 
all,  for  she  well  knew  that  Airs.  Belmont,  at  least, 
looked  upon  her  with  an  unloving  eye,  and  how 
was  she  to  be  made  sure  that  her  presence  M'ould 
not  be  distasteful  to  those  they  went  to  visit  ?  But 
Ellen  laughed  away  every  objection,  declaring,  "  I 
will  not  go  without  you  ;  we  will  stay  at  home  to- 
gether." 


AT    THE   WASHBURNS.  191 

This,  of  course,  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and 
Anna  found  herself  happy  in  the  assurance  that, 
although  far  from  home,  she  was  still  with  those 
who  loved  her. 

The  penetrating  eye  of  the  governess  saw  the 
sudden  flash  of  scorn  that  passed  over  the  face  of 
the  new-comer  at  their  introduction  ;  nor  did  the 
slight  pressure  of  the  finger  tips  betray  a  cordial 
welcome. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  get  home  again  !"  she  exclaimed 
languidly,  throwing  herself  upon  the  sofa.  "I  have 
heard  nothing  for  the  last  week  but  war,  war,  war ! 
and  if  I  was  ever  tired  of  anything  it  is  that  hate- 
ful subject.  One  thing,  however,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  do.  If  those  cold  blooded  northerners 
should  presume  to  raise  their  plebeian  hands  against 
us,  you  will  see  me  shoulder  my  musket  and  go 
forth  to  try  my  skill  in  popping  over  a  few  of 
them."  She  rang  the  bell  violently  as  the  mother 
replied  : 

"  If  I  were  so  tired  of  a  hateful  subject  I  would 
not  again  introduce  it." 

A  servant  girl  entered. 

"  Roll  the  sofa  up  nearer  the  grate."  Then 
turning  to  Ellen,  she  continued: 

"  I  feel  chilly  after  riding.  It  is  provokingly 
cold  just  now.  Did  you  suffer  much  from  3^our 
long  journey?  Miss  Pierson,  I  suppose,  is  used 
to  such  weather." 

They  decided  promptly  that  they  both  had  a 
"  lovely  ride,"  and  Rose  settled  herself  down  in 
her  warm  seat  by  the  fire. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Belmont  ?"  she  asked  a  moment 
after,  "  I  have  not  seen  her  3'et.  The  gentlemen, 
I  reckon,  are  in  the  librar}^  discussing  the  war." 


192  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

The  mother  thought  they  were,  and  added  that 
Mrs.  Belmont  had  gone  up  stairs  sometime  before 
inviting  Miss  Gaylord  to  accompany  her." 

"  She  seems  to  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  your 
daughter,  Mrs.  Gaylord,"  remarked  Mrs.  St.  Clair, 
"  you   must  be  careful,  or  she  will   win  her  from 

you."_ 

"  lyily  does  not  appear  at  all  fickle  in  her  affec- 
tions ;   I  think  I  am  safe,"  replied  the  lady,  smiling. 

"  Are  you  always  so  industrious,  Miss  Pierson  ?" 
interrogated  Rose,  blandly.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  ; 
I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  you  are  from  the  land 
of  industry.  As  true  as  I  live,  Ellen,  she  has 
drawn  you  into  the  same  graceless  habit.  What  is 
that  on  the  table  by  you?  A  stocking,  'pon  my 
word!"  Bllen  only  laughed  as  she  held  up  a  por- 
tion of  a  worsted  scarf  in  process  of  manufacture. 

"  We  plebeians  do  not  call  this  work  ;  only  a  lit- 
tle amusement,"  interposed  Anna,  without  raising 
her  eyes.  "We  awkward  people  find  it  difficult 
sometimes  to  dispose  of  our  hands,  and  so  we  em- 
ploy them." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  A  toss  of  the  head  and  some  trivial  remark  to 
her  mother  was  the  onl}^  answer  given  by  the 
young  lady  addressed. 

The  door  opened  and  lunch  was  announced.  The 
gentlemen  entered  soon  after,  and  the  conversation 
became  spirited  and  general. 

One  thing  Rose  Washburn  could  not  understand, 
she  was  heard  to  declare  to  Mrs.  Belmont,  and  that 
was  how  George  St.  Clair  could  "devote  so  much 
time  and  attention  to  "  that  menial."  Of  course  it 
was  only  his  excessive  gallantr}^,  but  he  ought  to 
know  that  it  does  him  no  honor. 


AT   TKE    WASHBURNS.  193 

Mrs.  Belmont  fully  agreed  with  her  young 
friend^  yet  showed  no  disposition  to  prolong  the 
conversation.  Rose  also  wondered  at  the  unusual 
dignity  and  stateliness  of  the  lady,  and  with  re- 
newed admiration  for  her  queenly  bearing  she  re- 
mained silent. 

The  dinner  hour  arrived  at  last.  The  bell  had 
just  called  but  all  were  not  present,  and  so  they 
waited.  The  host  was  in  fine  spirits.  "  Always 
happy,"  as  he  declared,  but  pretty  generally  more 
so  as  the  day  continued  to  advance.  He  was  a 
lover  of  good  wine,  and  unless  attentively  watched 
by  his  careful  wife  would  often  lose  his  boasted 
manliness  after  dinner.  She  had  determined  to 
use  her  influence  during  the  stay  of  her  guests  to 
keep  him  the  genial  gentleman  she  so  much  de- 
sired him  to  be.  He  had,  however,  unknown  to 
her,  ordered  wine  to  the  library  in  the  morning, 
but  was  quite  sure  he  had  been  temperate  in  his 
potations. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  they  call  those  two 
girls  'Rose'  and  'Lily'  for?"  he  asked,  slap- 
ping Mr.  St.  Clair  on  the  shoulder  as  the  bell  rang 
again  and  the  party  arose.  "  Not  because  their 
names  are  appropriate ;  that  is  a  fact,"  he  contin- 
ued, after  his  boisterous  laugh  had  died  away. 
"  You  never  saw  a  lily  with  such  black  spots  on  it, 
did  you  ?" 

"  I  have,  remarked  the  young  lady,  playfully. 
"  You  will  discover  that  my  eyes  are  not  '  black,' 
but  a  positive  '  red  brown,'  as  Aunt  Dinah  would 
say.  We  have  lilies  in  our  garden  at  home  with 
just  such  colored  spots  on  them,  and  we  call  them 
'  tiger  lilies.'     Now  is  not  my  name  appropriate  ?" 


194  THK    ^IISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"Ha!  ha!  just  so.  And  I  reckon  you  liave 
roses  with  terrible  sharp  things  about  them  which 
say  as  plainl}'  as  words  can  do,  '  hands  off,'  haven't 
you?" 

"  He-he-he,  sharp-toed  slippers,"  squeaked  a 
piping  voice  from  the  i,tairs  where  they  were  pass- 
ing- 

"  Yes,  and  see  how  you  like  it,"  exclaimed  Rose, 
making  a  spring  towards  him,  but  with  the  spright- 
liness  of  a  squirrel  he  darted  behind  a  heavy  post 
of  the  bullustrades,  wdiicli  unfortunately  for  the 
occupant  of  that  dainty  slipper  received  the  full 
force  of  the  blow  that  was  not  designed  for  it. 

"  I  like  it,  missus,  called  back  the  provoking 
little  rascal,  as  he  scrambled  on  all  fours  up  the 
broad  stairwa3^ 

"  I'll  pa}^  him  off,"  exclaimed  Rose,  excited  with 
pain  and  anger.  "  If  I  was  not  so  hungrj^  I  would 
do  it  now." 

The  laugh  became  general,  and  to  avoid  further 
remark  the  young  lad}^  joined  in  with  them.  Yet 
her  cheek  burned  and  she  found  it  difficult  to 
throw  aside  the  unpleasant  incident  or  make  her- 
self believe  that  George  St.  Clair,  who  was  unusu- 
ally attentive  to  her,  did  not  also  remember.  But 
the  hour  of  feasting  passed  agreeably  enough,  and 
when  the  ladies  arose  to  retire,  the  3^oung  gentle- 
man, who  seldom  took  wine,  asked  the  privilege  of 
going  with  them.  This  broke  up  the  after  dinner 
tete  a  tcte^  and  they  all  returned  to  the  parlor. 
Anna  stood  b}-  the  window  looking  out  over  the 
beautiful  landscape,  when  a  voice  near  her  asked 
in  low  tones : 

"Are  you  ver}-  unhappy  here,  Anna  ?"  She  hes- 
itated a  moment  before   answering,  as  she   looked 


AT   THE    WASHBURNS.  195 

into  the  manly  face  beside  her.  It  was  full  of  truth 
and  anxiety. 

"  I  am  very  happy,  and  have  to  thank  3'ou  for 
my  pleasure,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

"  I  feared  I  should  have  to  crave  your  pardon,  as 
I  perceive  that  Miss  Rose  does  not  look  upon  you 
kindly." 

"  You  may  think  it  strange,  but  even  this  does 
not  give  me  pain  ;  it  only  amuses  me." 

"  That  is  right.  I  rejoice  that  I  have  not  been 
the  means  of  troubling  you  when  so  much  desiring 
your  pleasure," 

"Do  you  play?"  inquired  Rose,  coming  up  to 
the  window  where  the  two  were  standing.  "  I 
think  Ellen  has  told  me  that  music  is  one  of  the 
branches  you  teach." 

"Yes  ;  and  I  pla}^  a  little  occasionally',  as  exam- 
ple is  more  forcible  than  theory,"  was  the  mischiev- 
ous response,  "  Air.  St.  Clair,  however,  will, 
without  doubt,  prefer  hearing  you,  as  ni}'  attempts 
would  be  only  a  story  many  times  told." 

George  looked  into  the  beaming  face  of  his  com- 
panion, and  his  own  caught  the  light.  "She  spoke 
truthfully  when  she  said  she  enjoyed  it,"  he 
thought,  and  taking  the  hand  of  the  hostess'  daugh- 
ter, drew  her  arm  within  his  own  and  led  her  away 
to  the  piano. 

"  Rose  sings  very  well,"  remarked  Mr.  St.  Clair 
to  Mrs.  Belmont,  who  was  sitting  beside  him  on 
the  sofa, 

"  One  more,"  called  out  the  father,  as  the  last 
words  of  the  song  "  Will  You  Sometimes  Think  of 
Me?"  died  away  or  were  swalloAved  up  in  the  dense 
volume  of  the  elaborate  accompaniment. 


19(3  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"What  would  you  like,  father?  'Do  They  Miss 
Meat  Home?'" 

The  remenibrauce  of  these  words  as  sung  in  a 
distant  home  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  one  of 
her  listeners,  as  the  scenes  of  that  last  night  came 
rolling  in  upon  the  mind,  and  when  at  last  the 
voice  of  Mr.  St.  Clair  was  heard  calling  :  "  Now, 
Anna,  for  Cathesdra,"  she  arose  mechanically  to 
obey  while  the  dew  of  love  still  glistened  in  her 
mild  blue  orbs.  "  It  is  my  favorite,  you  know," 
remarked  the  old  gentleman,  apologetically. 

"And  it  is  my  delight  to  gratif}'  you,"  was  the 
characteristic  response. 

Anna  never  sang  better.  There  was  something 
in  the  wail  of  the  poor  exile  pining  for  the  scenes 
of  her  Italian  home  which  chimed  in  smoothly  yet 
pensively  with  the  low  sighing  of  her  own  heart, 
and  when  the  words  "  O  let  me  die  where  ni}- 
mother  died,"  came  bubbling  up  from  the  full  font 
of  her  filial  affections,  a  burst  of  applause  mingled 
harshl}^  with  her  flute- like  tones.  The  hand  that 
clasped  hers  as  George  St.  Clair  led  her  back  to 
the  window  where  they  had  been  standing  some 
time  before,  did  not  seem  at  all  willing  to  relin- 
quish its  task  when  its  duty  was  over ;  and  not 
until  he  espied  a  smile  ripple  over  her  illumined 
features  did  he  speak. 

"  A  little  homesick,"  he  remarked,  quietly,  and 
changed  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  always  retired  early,  and  Lily, 
either  from  fo:»'ce  of  habit  or  affection,  seldom  failed 
to  sit  by  her  to  talk  or  read  until  quietly  resting 
for  the  night.  That  evening,  as  the  pale  face  set- 
tled itself  into  the  snowy  pillow,  the  young  girl 
stooped  to  kiss  the  weary  brow  as  she  asked  : 


AT   THE   WASHBURNS.  197 

"  Do  you  see  anything  peculiar  about  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont ?  I  do  not  like  to  be  prejudiced,  but  some- 
how she  strikes  a  chill  over  me  every  time  I  catch 
her  gaze  fastened  upon  me  ;  and  yet  there  is  a  fas- 
cination about  her  from  which  I  find  it  impossible 
to  disentangle  myself.  She  commands  me  with 
the  beck  of  her  hand,  while  a  look  consigns  me  to 
silence,  and  yet  I  have  met  her  so  recently.  Can 
you  tell  me  what  it  all  means  ?" 

"  You  love  her,  my  child." 

"  O  no ;  it  is  not  that.     I  almost  fear  her." 

"  Then  she  loves  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  does.  For  some  reason  I 
cannot  divine  she  seems  greatly  interested  in  my 
early  history.  I  told  you  of  her  strange  conduct 
last  evening.  To-day  she  inquired  if  I  had  any 
idea  where  upon  the  Atlantic  shore  my  childhood's 
home  had  been  situated  ;  and  when  I  answered  that 
I  had  no  idea  whatever,  I  could  but  notice  the 
gleam  of  joy  that  flashed  over  her  face.  I  should 
have  called  it  satisfaction,  if  I  had  found  a  reason 
for  supposing  that  the  attitude  of  indifference  she 
assumed  was  not  perfectly  legitimate.  But  I  am 
wearying  you  when  you  ought  to  be  resting.  All 
of  these  are  '  idle  dreamings,'  as  Willie  would  say, 
so  good  night,"  and  with  another  kiss  the  young 
girl  stole  noiselessly  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Gaylord,  however,  could  not  sleep.  It  did 
not  seem  at  all  like  dreaming  to  her,  and  an  inde- 
scribable sensation  of  fearful  forebodings  had  taken 
possession  of  her,  as  one  feels  sure  that  a  storm  is 
approaching,  although  far  away.  "  But  it  is  only 
for  a  week,"  she  concluded,  "then  she  will  forget  it 
all  and  rest." 


198  THE   MIvSTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

Ellen  St.  Clair  and  Anna  roomed  together  by 
special  request,  and  long  that  night  did  the  two 
friends  lie  side  by  side  and  talk. 

"  I  do  wonder  so  much,"  said  Anna,  at  last 
"  how  Mrs.  Washburn  could  have  given  her  love 
to  one  so  unlike  herself  in  everything/' 

"  It  was  strange.  I  have  heard  my  mother  tell 
the  story  many  times.  You  know  tJicv  were  very 
dear  friends  in  their  school  days,  and  have  always 
kept  their  affections  warm  and  bright  b}-  frecpient 
communications  and  visits.  Ifit  were  not  for  that 
tie  I  hardly  think  we  should  be  drawn  here  for  so 
long  a  time.    But  I  hope  you  enjoy  it  just  a  little." 

"More  than  that.  I  shall  alwa3's  remember  you 
with  love  for  giving  me  this  pleasure.  But  3^ou 
have  excited  my  '  plebian'  curiosit}-  regarding  this 
strange  marriage.     Will  3'ou  satisfy  it?" 

"  O  3'es.  Know,  then,  that  Mary  Ga^-lord  was 
the  daughter  of  a  Virginia  planter,  who  was  very 
wealthy,  and  fearing  to  send  his  daughter  north  on 
account  of  the  enmity  existing  between  the  sections, 
he  posted  her  off  to  Augusta,  where  she  found  a 
husband  who  did  not  at  all  suit  his  taste.  It  was 
an  elopement,  I  believe,  and  after  all  was  over  it 
was  ascertained  that  the  boasted  wealth  of  the 
newly  made  groom  consisted  in  the  prospect  of  a 
few  acres  of  pine  swamp,  which  would  probably 
become  altogether  unproductive  before  it  should 
pass  into  his  possession.  The  father,  however,  at 
last  relented,  and  revoked  his  decree  to  cast  her  off 
forever,  and  gave  them  a  few  thousand  with  which 
he  has  by  dint  of  buying  and  selling  amassed  quite 
a  large  fortune.  This  added  to  the  estate  that  has 
since  been  left  him  by  his  father,  has  placed  him 
on  an  equal  footing  with  the  planters  of  the  State. 


AT    THE   WASHBURNvS.  199 

Were  it  not  for  the  wealth  he  is  supposed  to  pos- 
sess, Jack  Washburn  would  hardly  be  tolerated  in 
good  society.  I  have  heard,  Anna,  that  in  your 
section  of  country  worth,  not  wealth,  is  more  gen- 
erally the  passport  up  the  ascending  scale." 

"  This  should  be  true,  but  there  is  not  such  a 
vast  difference  between  us.  The  social  edicts  are 
about  the  same.  I  often  wonder  how  it  will  be 
when,  as  the  Bible  tells  us,  there  will  be  a  new 
earth,  and  we  shall  live  in  the  society  of  the  'Sons 
of  God.'  " 

Ellen  laughed. 

*'  Not  much  like  the  present  state  of  affairs,  I 
reckon.  One  thing  I  am  sure  of,  there  will  be  no 
master,  no  slave,  nor  shall  there  be  war  any  more. 
It  is  dreadful  to  think  of.  Do  you  believe,  after 
all,  that  the  north  will  be  so  foolish  as  to  fight  ? 
George  says  he  is  sure  of  it,  but  I  hope  he  is  not 
a  prophet." 

"  You,  I  am  convinced,  will  pardon  almost  any- 
thing in  me,  even  if  I  tell  you  that  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  God  has  this  whole  matter  in  hand, 
and  will  work  it  our  according  to  His  wise  pur- 
poses. There  have  been  a  million  prayers  going 
up  to  Him  for  a  century  or  more  out  of  crushed 
hearts,  dripping  with  the  bitterest  tears  ever  shed 
by  human  eyes,  and  will  He  not  hear  ?  Whether 
there  is  war  or  not,  His  will  be  done." 

"Mrs.  Belmont  would  call  that  treason,  dear 
Anna,  but  I  feel  that  it  is  true.  If  there  is  a  pitying 
Father  anywhere  He  will  defend  and  protect  His 
children  and  bring  the  guilty  to  their  reward 
when  the  proper  time  comes,  and  in  my  opinion  the 
'  mistress  of  Rosedale '  will  be  obliged  to  put  her 
keen  eyes  to  a  good  use  if  she  at  last  finds  a  way 


200 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


to  escape.  But  I  am  getting  sleep}^ ;  good  night," 
and  in  a  few  moments  Ellen  St.  Clair  had  forgot- 
ten the  wonder  she  had  planted  in  the  bosom  of 
her  companion. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   DEATH    OF   UNCLE   BOB. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  trifle  in  the  world," 
says  the  Spanish  proverb.  "  When  we  remember 
how  inextricably  the  lives  of  all  mankind  are  tan- 
gled together,  it  seems  as  if  every  word  and  action 
moved  a  lever  which  set  in  motion  a  gigantic  ma- 
chine whose  effect  is  beyond  our  control."  Such 
has  been  the  workings  of  those  of  whom  our  little 
history  treats,  and  yet  the  labor  is  not  completed. 

Charles  Belmont  would  arrive  before  dinner  the 
next  day  after  the  incidents  of  our  last  chapter,  and 
Bllen  St.  Clair  was  expected,  of  course,  to  be  ner- 
vous and  excited  ;  but  much  to  the  chagrin  of  the 
mother  of  the  young  gentleman,  at  least,  she  was 
neither.  One  might  well  accuse  her  of  indiffer- 
ence or  disinterestedness,  so  calm  and  quiet  did  she 
appear.  It  was  proposed  that  they  should  ride 
over  to  the  depot  to  meet  him,  but  she  thought  it 
"  tiresome." 

"  Then  let  us  go  to  the  village  for  the  letters," 
suggested  Rose  ;  but  even  that  was  "unnecessary," 
and,  besides,  it  was  Jim's  work,  and  for  one  she  did 
not  "  like  to  infringe  upon  the  rights  of  others," 
she  declared,  with  the  merriest  of  laughs. 

"  Then,"  said  George,  coming  to  the  rescue,  ''we 
will  take  Anna  out  and  show  her  the  orange 
groves," 

201 


202  THE    MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  That  is  just  the  thing  ;  a  walk  was  what  was 
most  needed." 

''And  Ellen  is  suited  at  last,"  exclaimed  Rose, 
in  a  pet. 

"But  you  will  go  without  me.  Southern  luxury  is 
no  rarity  to  one  who  has  always  been  used  to  it ;" 
and  the  insinuating  eyes  darted  to  the  calm  face  of 
her  for  whom  the  pretty  speech  was  intended.  "  I 
will  ^emaiu  within  doors,  and  listen  to  the  chit- 
chat of  the  old  ladies,  or  it  may  be,  finish  the 
'  Missing  Bride,'  which  I  consider  far  more  agree- 
able." 

"  Do  you  find  entertainment  in  the  works  of  ]\Irs. 
Southworth  ?  There  are  those  who  consider  them 
rather  effervescent — to  speak  niildl3\" 

"  Of  whom  you  are  included." 

"  Certainl}^  so,"  replied  George  St.  Clair  with  a 
touch  of  irony  in  his  voice,  it  must  be  confessed, 
for  he  had  seen  the  glow  deepen  on  the  cheek  of 
Anna  too  many  times  beneath  her  scathing  words, 
not  to  realize  the  uprising  of  his  knightly  indig- 
nation, which  submerged,  for  the  moment,  his  na- 
tive gallantr3\  But  one  glance  into  the  mirthful 
face  of  his  companion,  who  w^as  already  ec|uipped 
for  her  walk,  brought  to  his  mind  her  previous  as- 
sertion, that  she  really  enjoyed  it ;  and  he  smoth- 
ered the  glowing  fire  and  stepped  into  the  hall  for 
his  hat. 

Lily  was  bathing  the  aching  head  of  her  suf- 
fering mother,  and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
leave  her  post,  and  so  the  three  started  on  without 
her.  On  the  piazza,  however,  they  encountered 
"  Toddy,"  who  was  rolling  in  the  sunshine  and 
trying  to  sing  like  Aunt  Millie. 


THE    DEATH    OF    UNCLE    BOB.  20^5 

"  Here,  you  rascal,"  called  George,  "  come  and 
show  us  wliere  we  can  find  the  store-house.  I  want 
you  to  see  first  how  they  prepare  and  store  away 
the  cotton,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Anna. 

''  Wants  to  see  where  dey  works  'em  ?"  asked 
Toddy  with  a  very  knowing  look. 

"  Yes,  where  the  gins  are." 

"  Yes,  massa."  And  the  boy  started  off  in  a 
rollicking  trot,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the 
young  people  who  followed  close  after  him.  On  he 
went,  slapping  his  sides  at  everj^  step,  and  casting 
a  sly  look  over  his  shoulder  at  the  ladies. 

"  Here,  you  monkey — don't  you  ever  walk  ?" 
again  called  George,  as  he  was  getting  far  ahead. 

"  Yes,  massa." 

"  When,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  When  Miss  Rose  wants  dis  child  to  hurry 
quick,"  he  shouted  back,  at  the  same  time  bestow- 
ing one  of  his  side-long  glances. 

There  was  another  merry  laugh  when  Anna  in- 
quired : 

"  What  do  they  call  you  Todd}'  for  ?  It  seems 
like  a  queer  name  for  a  little  boy." 

"  Don'  know  missus ;  'spects  it's  'cause  massa 
likes  me." 

This  was  too  much  even  for  the  staid  bachelor, 
and  he  joined  heartily  in  the  laugh  that  followed 
this  bit  of  wit. 

"  I  reckon  they  do  not  give  you  many  whip- 
pings," suggested  Ellen. 

"  Right  smart,  sometimes,  missus." 

"  Wliere  are  you  taking  us,  madcap  ?  Here,  this 
is  the  way  to  the  gin  house." 

"  Yes,  massa,"  and  turning  in  the  direction  des- 
ignated he  proceeded  with  the  same  swinging  trot 


204  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

as  before.  "  Uncle  Bob  drefful  bad  ober  dar,"  he 
added  a  moment  after,  pointing-  to  a  small  cabin  a 
little  apart  from  the  rest.  "  Reckon  he's  goin  t' 
die,"  and  he  renewed  with  vigor  the  peculiar  move- 
ment of  his  strange  gait,  yet  this  time  the  drum- 
ming of  his  chubby  hands  kept  up  a  running  ac- 
companiment to  the  song  he  had  left  unfinished 
when  disturbed  in  the  attempt  to  imitate  poor  Aunt 
Millie. 

Anna  did  not  join  in  the  amusement  of  the  mo- 
ment, for  her  thoughts  were  with  the  old  man  who 
"  was  mighty  bad  ober  dar,"  and  she  longed  to 
visit  him  in  his  humble  home.  She  walked  through 
the  extensive  warehouse,  listened  to  the  explana- 
tions regarding  the  work  of  the  world-famed  cot- 
ton gin,  looked  at  the  huge  piles  of  bales  not  j^et 
shipped,  yet  felt  no  interest  in  what  she  heard  or 
saw,  so  great  had  become  her  desire  to  go  to  the 
little  cabin  where  the  poor  negro  was  dying  ;  and 
when  they  again  emerged  into  the  open  air,  she 
said,  calnih' : 

"  Why  not  make  a  visit  to  the  sick  now  ?  I  have 
heard  so  much  in  the  north  about  the  piety  and 
resignation  of  the  negro  people  in  the  dying  hour 
that  I  long  to  witness  it  for  mj^self." 

The  youg  man  looked  into  the  face  of  the  speak- 
er with  a  shadow  of  perplexity  covering  his  own. 
Ellen,  however,  quietly  remarked  : 

"All  of  these  things  have  been  greatly  exagge- 
rated, without  doubt,  and  yet  I  shall  never  forget 
how  triumphantly  ©Id  Peter  went  home.  I  was 
quite  small,  but  my  heart  learned  a  great  lesson 
from  that  death.  If  you  desire,  Anna,  I  will  go 
with  you." 


THE    DEATH    OF    UNCLE    BOB.  205 

"  I  think,  ladies,  you  had  better  commission  me 
to  carry  the  wine  and  oil,  for  having  had  one  peep 
into  the  sensitive  nature  of  our  northern  friend,  I 
must  consider  you  very  thoughtless,  my  sister,  in 
forwarding  her  desires." 

This  was  said  with  apparent  carelessness,  yet 
Anna  did  not  fail  to  perceive  that  he  did  not  want 
them  to  go.  Still  she  was  not  willing  to  give  it  up, 
and,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  she  said,  play- 
fully: 

"  Miss  Rose  will  require  a  little  of  your  Samar- 
itan kindness,  if  she  is  still  weeping  over  the  tor- 
tures of  the  '  Missing  Bride,'  and  if  you  will  par- 
don us  we  will  go  to  the  cabin  while  you  administer 
balm  in  another  direction.  To  morrow,  remember, 
we  are  to  finish  our  rambles  through  the  orange 
groves." 

"  Of  course  he  will  excuse  us,"  interposed 
Ellen,  "we  will  not  remain  a  great  while."  And 
with  a  "  Just  as  you  please,  ladies,"  their  chaperon, 
with  a  most  obsequious  bow,  walked  away. 

"  He  hasn't  gone  to  the  house  at  all,"  remarked 
the  sister  looking  after  him,  but  Toddy  unper- 
ceived  by  either  had  appeared  on  the  scene  and 
with  one  of  his  knowing  glances  remarked  quaintly: 
"  Miss  Lily  ober  dar  wid  de  turkeys  ;  I  seed  her 
goin'  down  de  walk.  Dis  be  ole  Bob's,"  and  roll- 
ing up  to  the  door  he  opened  it,  then  stepped  back 
for  the  ladies  to  enter.  "  A  little  gentleman  after 
all,"  remarked  Anna  sotto  voce\  but  they  were  in 
the  room  where  in  the  farther  part  lay  the  old  man 
with  closed  eyes  apparently  asleep.  "  Do  not  dis- 
turb him,"  whispered  Ellen  approaching  the  bed- 
side ;  but  the  large  eyes  opened  as  she  drew  near 
and  a  smile  spread  itself  over  the  thin  features. 


206  THE    MISTRKSvS    OF    ROSKDALE. 

"  De  3'oung  ladies  from  de  house  has  come  to 
see  3'on,"  said  the  girl  in  attendance.  "  Bress 
ye'se  honey.  I'se  most  home,  got  most  t'ro'  wid 
de  work  and  de  cryin' !  Old  Bob's  done  heaps  of 
dem  both — bress  de  Lord!''  And  the  heav}- lids 
drooped  again  over  the  large  e3'es  where  such  a 
joyous  light  seemed  burning.  Anna  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  to  take  the  bonj-  hand  of  the 
d3nng  man  in  her  own,  and  as  it  la3'  in  her  warm 
clasp  he  looked  again  upon  her.  "  Does  3'e  pra3', 
hone3'?  De  good  Lord  help  ye  !  It's  but  a  little 
wa3^  down  to  de  ribber  whar  old  Bob's  a-goin' ! 
Poo'  massa !  I'se  told  de  Lord  all  'bout  him.  It's 
de  liquor  what  keeps  de  good  awa3' — but  den  I'se 
most  t'ro' — goin'  home — bress  de  Lord!"  A  spoon 
was  placed  to  his  lips  and  as  he  swallowed  the  few 
drops  he  murmured  :  ^' Poo''  massa!  It's  de  liq- 
uor," and  his  voice  died  awa3'  in  a  pra3'er  Anna 
was  sure  for  his  lips  moved  almost  imperceptibl3^ 
There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Anna  as  she 
raised  the  hand  she  had  been  holding  from  the 
feebl3'  heaving  breast  asked  softl3' :  "What  are 
all  the  sorrows  of  life  to  3'ou  now  ?  With  heaven 
so  near  can  3^ou  feel  sad  for  a  moment  over  what 
has  past  ?  Are  3'OU  Yer3'  happ3'  poor,  d3'ing  saint?" 
O  that  look  !  "  It  must  have  been  a  ra3'  that  had 
darted  through  the  opening  gate  that  so  lighted 
up  the  wan  features,"  said  Anna  after,  "  for  it  was 
like  nothing  I  ever  saw  before."  The  poor  girl  b3^ 
his  side  was  weeping  quietU^,  but  she  caught  the 
glance  of  the  heavenl3'  e3^es,  and  la3'ing  her  hand 
on  the  white  head  said  soothingl3^ :  "  Dar's  a 
crown  for  poor  old  Bob  where  dis  head  won't  ache 
no  mo'  ;"  and  the  fervent  "  bress  de  Lord  I"  fell 
again  from  the  thin  lips. 


Till'.  I)i:atii  (11-  UxciJi  Bob. 


THE    DEATH    OF    UNCLE    BOB.  207 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  staj^  liere  aloue?"  whis- 
pered Ellen. 

"  O,  no;  de  Lord  and  de  holy  angels  are  close 
by,  and  Fanny  will  be  here  when  de  days  work  is 
t'ro'.  But  Bob  an  I  isn't  'fraid.  We'll  both  be 
dar  by  and  by."  Fearing  to  intrude  longer  upon 
the  last  moments  of  a  departing  soul  the  two  stole 
noiselessly  from  the  humble  room  which  was  so 
soon  to  prove  the  gate  of  heaven  to  the  liberated 
spirit,  and  they  stepped  out  into  the  cool,  bracing 
air,  yet  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

"There  come  the  carriages  from  the  depot," 
remarked  Bllen  as  they  turned  towards  the  house. 
Yes,  Charles  Belmont  had  arrived  ;  as  also  Mr. 
St.  Clair,  in  company  with  the  host,  from  where 
they  had  been  taking  a  drive  over  a  neighboring 
plantation  ;  and  shortl}-  after  a  merry  party,  to  all 
appearance,  sat  down  to  a  bountiful  dinner.  How 
little  we  know  of  the  grief,  bitterness,  disappoint- 
ment, anger  and  rage  that  can  be  crowded  into  one 
dark  chamber  of  the  soul  over  which  the  spirit  of 
evil  keeps  its  faithful  watch,  holding  in  its  right 
hand  the  keys  of  its  secret  domain  ! 

"  Old  Bob  gone  dead,  sure,"  piped  a  voice 
through  a  narrow  aperture  of  the  door  close  to  the 
master's  chair. 

"  Get  out  you  scoundrel !"  exclaimed  the  host, 
at  the  same  time  throwing  a  chicken  bone  at  the 
intruder's  curly  head  which  failed  in  its  aim,  while 
the  gleeful  "he-he-he!"  mingled  itself  with  the 
sound  of  Toddy's  rapid  scrambling  up  the  broad 
staircase  outside. 

"  Did  you  know  Bob  was  so  bad?"  inquired  the 
wife,  stopping  for  a  moment  in  her  duties  as  hostess. 


208  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Bad?  Bob  wasn't  bad  about  anything  !  But  I 
knew  he  was  going  this  morning,  the  old  boy  ! 
Well,  he  did  have  one  fault ;  he  loved  his  good- 
for-nothing  old  master  and  I  reckon  things  won't 
go  quite  as  brisk  now  that  he  has  gone." 

"  One  of  the  faithful  ones,  I  take  it?"  interro- 
gated Charles  Belmont. 

''  Yes,  and  a  pet  of  my  father's,  who,  when  he 
was  dying,  told  me  to  be  good  to  '  Bob  '  and  I 
reckon  I've  done  it  ;"  and  the  little  ripple  caused 
by  the  departure  of  a  human  soul  closed  up,  and 
the  dinner  with  its  accompaniments  of  mirth  and 
laughter  went  on  as  though  the  waters  had  never 
been  stirred.  Death !  Mrs.  Belmont  retired  to 
her  room  almost  immediately  after  the  party  re- 
turned to  the  parlor,  for  a  flood  of  contending 
emotions  had  rolled  in  upon  her  guilty  soul  at  the 
very  thought  of  the  "  king  of  terrors."  Then,  too, 
there  came  to  her  through  the  surgings  of  the  in- 
ward tempest  the  last  words  of  him  who  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  shadows  at  Rosedale,  "teach  the  chil- 
dren to  be  true,  noble  and  better  than  we  have 
been,  for  somehow  I  can  but  feel  that  Aunt  Vina 
is  right  '  we  must  have  the  Lord  sometime  or  be 
wretched!'"  "The  Lord!  Wretched!  Am  I 
not  all  that  now?"  and  the  miserable  woman 
paced  the  floor  as  her  thoughts  went  on.  Where 
was  Lillian  ?  She  was  to  teach  to  be  good  and 
noble  !  Under  that  very  roof  was  her  child  !  The 
babe  she  had  so  desired  to  thrust  out  of  sight — out 
of  the  world  !  Every  motion  of  the  childish  figure 
— every  look  sent  a  barb  of  anguish  to  her  already 
tortured  soul !  "  It  will  all  be  brought  to  light  " 
something  had  continually  whispered  to  her 
awakened   conscience  for   the   last  two  days,  and 


THE    DEATH    OF   UNCLE   BOB.  209 

how  could  she  ever  meet  it?  How  gladly  she 
would  have  throttled  the  power  that  was  so  resist- 
lessly  carrying  her  forward !  O  the  agony  of  a 
sin-cursed  soul !  The  stately  lady  stood  by  the 
window  and  looked  out  upon  the  scenes  before  her. 
Yonder  were  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  yet  lin- 
gering in  the  tree-tops  ;  near  was  the  rude  cabin 
where  the  still  form  of  the  humble  slave  was  ly- 
ing. How  joyfully  would  the  proud,  haughty 
mistress  of  Rosedale  at  that  moment  have  ex- 
changed places  with  the  poor  despised  menial !  But 
she  must  live ;  the  future  was  unfolding  itself  to 
her  every  moment  and  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
Again  the  record  of  a  mortal  life  was  sadly  closed, 
for  on  its  pages  was  written  the  guilt  of  a  perj  ured 
soul ! 

"It  must  be  done!"  she  mentally  exclaimed, 
while  her  long  slender  fingers  clasped  each  other 
so  tightly  that  the  nails  pressed  painfully  into  the 
flesh.  "  I  never  could  live  with  such  a  tornado  of 
disgrace  howling  around  me !  Never!  It  viust 
be  doneP^ 

"  O  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive  ;" 

what  a  concourse  of  evil  spirits  will  enter  when 
the  door  of  the  heart  is  thrown  open  to  the  first 
invited  guests  ! 

The  miserable  occupant  of  the  upper  chamber 
was  realizing  it  all  now  as  she  had  never  done 
before.  She  had  flattered  herself  that  the  great 
secret  that  was  gnawing  at  her  very  life  was  wholly 
in  her  power ;  but  the  fantasy  was  being  dispelled  ! 
Lillian  was — she  knew  not  where !  Perhaps  at 
that  very  moment  probing  the  long-concealed 
mystery  and  if  discovered  would  hate  her  mother ! 


210 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 


This  was  torture  indeed  !  She  halted  in  her  walk 
and  stood  again  by  the  window.  "  I  must  go 
down,"  she  thought  after  a  moments  pause  ;  "they 
will  wonder  at  my  absence.  Secrecy  and  hypocricy 
is  my  future  work  [  To  draw  the  veil  of  indiffer- 
ence over  the  boiling  cauldron — smother  the  fire 
and  be  the  gentlewoman  of  fashion  and  society! 
O  for  a  mask  with  which  to  cover  it  all !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  ABDUCTION. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  did  not  expect  to  return  to  her 
Virginia  home  for  some  time,  it  being  her  intention 
to  spend  the  winter  as  far  south  as  convenient,  her 
physician  having  ordered  a  warmer  climate  and  an 
entire  change  of  scene.  She  thought  her  health 
was  improving,  and  so  she  would  remain  until  the 
crocus  peeped  from  its  bed  beneath  its  brown  cov- 
ering, and  then  she  would  return.  But  it  was  a 
pity  that  Lily  should  be  shut  up  so  closely  when 
there  was  so  much  in  the  city  to  give  her  enjoy- 
ment. Tiny  could  do  all  her  mistress  really  needed, 
and  "  we  will  make  it  so  pleasant  for  her,"  Ellen 
pleaded ;  and  Mrs,  Belmont,  Mho  stood  behind  the 
curtain,  calm  and  dignified,  had,  unconsciously  to 
all,  set  the  plan  in  active  operation. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  be  permitted  to  add  my  mite 
to  the  young  lady's  happiness,  which  I  shall  not 
fail  to  do  if  she  will  favor  us,  before  I  leave  the 
city,"  she  said  quietly.  All  the  time  she  was 
speaking  her  fingers  slowly  turned  the  leaves  of  a 
book  on  the  table  as  though  it  was  of  very  small 
moment  whether  the  invitation  was  or  was  not  ac- 
cepted, and  as  the  young  lady  left  the  room  re- 
marked, quietly  : 

"  I  believe  I  have  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  your 
daughter,  Mrs.  Gaylord.     It  seems  sometimes  that 

211 


212  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

she  resembles  iu  some  respects  my  Lillian  ;  their 
eyes  certainly  are  similar.  Do  you  not  think  so, 
George  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  often  been  reminded  of  her.  The 
same  deep,  thoughtful  expression,  and  at  times  the 
same  sad  look  I  have  noticed  on  Lillian's  face  since 
I  returned  from  Europe." 

George  St.  Clair  did  not  remove  his  gaze  from 
the  face  before  him  while  speaking,  yet  she  an- 
swered calmly  : 

"  I  can  see  no  reason  why  one  so  young  should 
have  such  a  look." 

The  3'ouug  man  bent  his  head  almost  to  her  ear, 
as  he  whispered  :  "  And  there  is  no  reason  under 
heaven  why  your  daughter's  face  should  wear  it. 
There  is  a  curse  in  a  false  ambition  like  the  one 
that  is  blackening  your  soul.  Unbend  yourself 
and  do  what  every  mother's  heart  should  prompt 
her  to  do.  Seek  your  child's  happiness  and  des- 
pise, as  every  noble  character  will,  the  worldly 
lust  that  is  governing  you." 

"  How  dare  you !"  she  exclaimed,  rising  to  her 
feet  and  fixing  her  keen  eyes  upon  him.  But  she 
said  no  more.  The  power  of  his  calm,  unflinching 
gaze  awed  her  into  silence,  and  turning  she  left  the 
room.  Yet  the  slumbering  demon  in  her  heart  had 
been  aroused  and  as  she  strolled  out  into  the  open 
air  seemed  ready  to  overpower  her. 

"  What  does  he  know  about  my  false  ambition  ? 
Could  she  have  told  him  ?  Ah,  but  she  knew  no- 
thing of  her  child  ;  let  her  revelations  be  what  they 
may,  this  secret  is  not  his  to  taunt  me  with.  Lost, 
lost !  Poverty  is  to  crush  my  pride  after  all  I  have 
done.  'A  curse  !'  Yes,  a  curse  has  already  set  its 
seal  upon  my  ambition — my  life."     She  walked  on 


THE    ABDUCTION.  213 

until  calm  once  more  stole  in  among  her  the  con- 
tending spirits,  and  she  returned  to  the  house. 

"  Mrs.  Belmont  seems  like  one  who  has  exper- 
ienced some  great  reverse,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gay- 
lord,  after  her  abrupt  departure  from  the  parlor. 
"  I  have  noticed  several  times  since  she  has  been 
here  a  disquietude  perfectly  unaccountable  in  one 
of  her  position." 

The  young  man  made  a  casual  reply,  and  oth- 
ers entering  at  the  moment  the  little  incident  was 
seemingly  forgotten. 

"  It  has  been  decided,"  remarked  Ellen  to  her 
brother  the  next  morning ;  "  Lily  Gaylord  will  re- 
turn with  us,  and  Anna  seems  delighted.  I  had 
not  thought  until  last  evening  that  a  tie  of  native 
land  drew  them  together." 

"  A  land  of  very  favorable  productions,"  replied 
the  brother,  with  a  mischievous  smile. 

During  the  short  visit  the  war  excitement  was 
spreading  wider  and  wider,  and  its  symptoms  be- 
came more  and  more  positive.  In  the  cities  the 
alarm  raged  like  an  epidemic  in  certain  circles, 
while  there  were  a  few  who  denounced  the  whole 
affair,  a  cooling  draught  quite  inefi&cient  to  keep 
down  the  devouring  fever.  Great  preparations  were 
being  made  in  Charleston,  and  a  few  other  places 
were  following  its  lead,  so  that,  should  the  cam- 
paign really  open  in  the  spring,  as  was  prophe- 
sied, they  might  be  ready.  Mr.  St.  Clair  was  one 
of  the  number  who  thought  it  not  well  to  go  to 
fighting.  "  To  be  sure,"  he  would  say,  good-nat- 
uredly, "  Uncle  sam  is  getting  rather  plethoric,  and 
it  may  be  well  to  give  him  a  little  fright,"  but 
he  never  would  advocate  the  idea  of  the  breaking 
up  of  households.     "  No  doubt  it  would  be  a  very 


214  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

fine  tiling  to  tumble  down  the  old  national  structure 
after  it  was  done  we  were  sure  of  walking  in  over 
the  ruins  and  building  up  to  suit  our  own  notions." 
But  to  tell  the  truth  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  the 
old  giant.  He  had  learned  that  his  locks  might 
grow  again,  crop  them  ever  so  short.  The  safest 
way,  he  thought,  was  to  let  well  enough  alone. 

His  son  was  much  of  the  same  opinion,  but  if 
the  house  must  be  divided  against  itself  he  would 
not  let  it  fall  into  ruin  without  a  struggle.  There- 
fore, in  a  few  days  after  the  little  part}'  had  re- 
turned to  the  city,  George  St.  Clair  started  for 
Charleston.  Lil\'  was  in  ecstacy  as  they  drew 
near  Savannah.  The  sea,  the  great  glorious  sea, 
was  before  her,  and  the  music  of  its  distant  waves 
thrilled  ever^^  fibre  of  her  being.  It  recalled  the 
fancied  dream  of  her  childhood  when  she  longed 
to  go  out  and  lay  her  head  on  the  billows  and  be- 
come a  part  of  its  restless  life. 

Charles  Belmont,  who  had  gone  to  the  cit}-  a  few 
days  before,  was  at  the  St.  Clairs  on  their  arrival 
and  gave  them  a  hearty  welcome.  Had  he  thought 
that  little  Phebe,  as  the  adopted  daughter  of  the 
wealthy  Virginia  planter,  would  do  to  reign  at 
Rosedale  ? 

A  long  programme  was  soon  made  out  for  the 
pleasures  of  the  next  few  weeks.  There  were 
rides  and  public  entertainments,  select  dinner  par- 
ties and  little  tcte  a  tetc''s,  besides  one  grand,  bril- 
liant soiree  at  the  senator's  mansion  which  Lily 
must  not  fail  to  attend  ! 

"  It  is  so  lucky  that  Charles  Belmont  has  not 
left  us,"  remarked  Ellen  while  talking  it  all  over. 
"  He  is  a  most  graceful  cJiaperoii  and  it  stands  us 
in  hand  to  court  his  favor.     You  will    not  refuse 


THE    ABDUCTION.  215 

him,  Lily?"  she  continued  with  an  arch  smile. 
"  He  seems  well  pleased  to  be  called  into  service." 
Thus  the  weeks  passed  away.  The  violets  peered 
out  from  their  beds  of  green  along  the  garden 
borders  and  the  daffodils  turned  their  broad  faces 
to  the  sun,  and  yet  Mr.  Gaylord  did  not  come 
south  after  his  wife.  He  was  in  Richmond  vvdth 
the  leading  men  of  the  day  discussing  the  great 
topics  under  consideration,  while  Airs.  Gaylord 
grew  weary  with  her  long  visit  and  more  and  more 
nervous  with  its  daily  protraction.  After  much 
urging  and  earnest  solicitation  by  her  friends  she 
consented  to  follow  Lily  to  the  city,  and  she  soon 
found  herself  forgetting,  when  once  the  guest  of 
Mrs.  St.  Clair,  that  the  time  had  hung  heavily. 
The  widowed  Bertha  became  much  attached  to  the 
pale  little  visitor,  and  found  great  consolation 
in  pouring  her  sorrows  into  her  attentive  ear.  One 
day  she  came  abruptly  into  the  room  where  ]\Irs. 
Gaylord  was  sitting  alone  and  saw  tears  upon  her 
cheeks  still  undried.  "Then  you  too  grieve  some- 
times," she  remarked,  laying  her  white  hand 
affectionately  on  the  bowed  head.  "  How  true  it 
is  that  we  find  shadows  where  we  should  least  ex- 
pect them !  But  then  it  must  be  sad  never  to  feel 
well!" 

''  O  no,  dear  ;  it  is  not  that !  I  seldom  if  ever 
have  wept  because  of  physical  suffering.  I  con- 
sider my  pains  and  aches  an  indispensable  part  of 
the  programme  of  life.  We  all  need  a  certain 
amount  of  refining  in  order  to  ascertain  how  much 
gold  will  remain,  if  any  ;  therefore  I  bear  all  this 
because  there  is  wisdom  in  it  and  an  end  to  be 
accomplished." 


216  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE 

"  One  would  scarcely  imagine  that  you  could 
have  a  greater  reason  for  sorrow." 

"  Perhaps  not,  and  yet  I  surprised  you  with 
tears.  Shall  I  tell  3^ou  why  ?  No  idle  fancy  of 
mine  but  onl}^  a  few  innocent  lines,  the  product, 
no  doubt,  of  an  experience  similar  to  my  own. 
Let  me  read  them  to  you.  'We  cannot  judge  of 
what  the  heart  contains  by  the  laughter  that 
escapes  the  lips  or  the  smiles  that  flit  across  and 
illumine  the  face,  any  more  than  we  can  fathom 
the  soundless  deep  or  discover  the  contents  of  its 
dark  chambers  by  the  sunbeams  that  lie  upon  its 
surface.  A  crown  of  diamonds  and  precious  stones 
is  a  thing  of  beauty,  but  when  lined  with  thorns 
and  pressed  down  by  its  heavy  weight  of  wealth  on 
the  pierced  and  bleeding  temples  it  will  lose  its 
preciousness  as  it  becomes  a  crown  of  torture ! 
Thus  mau}^  blessings,  priceless  in  themselves, 
ma}^  become  our  greatest  source  of  misery  if  a 
cruel  hand  twines  thorns  among  them.  Our  most 
serious  wounds  are  those  that  no  eye  can  discover 
because  of  their  depth.'  May  you  not  realize  all 
this  Mrs.  Mason.  /  know  it !  This  is  the  reason 
why  your  words,  dropped  one  by  one  into  the  foun- 
tain of  my  soul,  create  such  a  melanchol}^   echo  !" 

"  I  confess  that  I  am  astonished.  Rich,  talented 
and  beloved  ;  how  can  there  be  such  pitiful  wail- 
ings  in  your  poor  heart  ?  Were  I  expecting  ni}^ 
husband  as  you  are  \'ours,  or  had  he  died  where 
his  last  words  could  have  been  breathed  into  my 
ear  I  think  I  could  hush  every  other  saddened 
echo  and  call  myself  happy.  But  to  have  the  light 
of  life  suddenly  blown  out,  and  with  a  great  shock 
find  yourself  in  total  darkness,  covers  the  heart 
with  a  pall  hard  to  remove.     Then  to  feel  through 


THE    ABDUCTION.  217 

the  whole  night  that  it  need  not  have  been  !  O — 
you  never  can  know!  '  The  code  of  honor!''  My 
soul  detests  such  chivalry  !"  and  the  bright  eyes 
glared  wildly  into  the  face  of  her  companion. 

''  My  poor  friend !  The  tenderest  sympathies 
of  my  heart  are  yours!  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
weakness ;  and  yet  there  are  many  avenues  to  the 
soul  through  which  the  bitter  waters  flow.  One  of 
these,  it  may  be,  is  the  closing  up  of  those  through 
which  the  real  practical  benefits  are  expected  to 
enter,  leaving  room  only  for  the  unreal  and  the 
unpractical.  Here  I  feel  is  my  fault.  It  is  this 
binding  up  of  my  whole  being  with  these  silver 
cords,  upon  which  every  external  incident  has  a" 
power  like  the  touch  of  electricity  to  fill  my  whole 
soul  with  discord.  In  my  youth  I  very  foolishly 
drew  my  own  panorama  of  coming  events,  in  which 
I  left  out  everything  that  was  rough  or  unsightly  ; 
in  a  ward,  filling  up  the  future  with  ideal  loveli- 
ness. I  thought  my  life's  path  would  soon  begin 
to  wind  along  through  the  valley  of  roses  where 
no  harsh  winds  ever  blow  and  no  dark  shadows 
ever  shut  out  the  glowing  sunlight.  But  the  time 
when  my  slippered  feet  were  to  tread  on  thornless 
flowers  has  not  arrived.  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  myself  ever  to  have  expected  it.  It  is  not  in 
my  power  to  disjoint  my  nature  and  reconstruct 
it  with  iron !  That  I  was  so  organized  is  my  mis- 
fortune, not  my  crime  !" 

"Does  all  this  make  you  unhappy?  It  seems 
to  me  that  a  nature  so  full  of  beauty  or  what  you 
term  '  unrealities '  ought  to  have  a  source  of  joy 
all  its  own." 

"  If  one  could  live  to  herself  it  might  be  so ; 
but  it  is  for  the  practical  that  we  were  created,  for 


218  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

this  we  are  chosen.  Fail  in  the  power  of  bestowal 
and  veril}^  we  are  guilty  of  the  whole.  I  am  a 
failure  !  It  is  my  mission  to  sow  dew-drops  where 
wheat  should  have  been  scattered,  to  covet  sun- 
beams when  clouds  are  more  to  the  purpose  !  It 
is  not  pleasant,  surely,  to  awaken  after  a  gentle 
nap  of  self-repose  to  find  that  a  grave  has  been 
dug  with  your  '  incapacities  '  which  has  swallowed 
up  the  love  you  once  fondly  expected  would  gild 
a  whole  life  with  roseate  hues  !" 

^^ Love  j'oit/  Why  everj'one  loves  j^<??/.''  Your 
husband  idolizes  you  !     Is  it  not  so?" 

"  Go  look  at  my  wardrobe  ;  is  anj'thing  deficient 
there  ?  M}-  jewels — are  they  not  the  richest  and 
rarest  ?  But  with  it  all  my  woman's  heart  is  still 
unsatisfied.  Ah,  there  is  Lily  ;  I  hear  her  coming 
up  the  stairs.  She  has,  the  foolish  child,  the  same 
wild  longings,  the  same  idealities  that  goad  me.  It 
was  these  that  woke  my  heart  to  her  cr}?-  for  love." 

Lily  came  bounding  into  the  room  her  cheeks 
and  eyes  bright  with  the  excitement  of  her  morn- 
ing ride. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  did  not  go  with  us,"  she  said 
as  she  kissed  the  pale  lips  of  her  dearest  friend. 
"I  am  sure  it  \vould  have  taken  all  of  the  pain  out 
of  3^our  head,  the  air  is  so  pure  and  sweet.  Besides 
Charles  is  to  return  to  Rosedale  to-morrow  where 
his  mother  will  follow  in  a  few  days,  and  Ellen 
will  not  trust  herself  with  the  new  coachman,  he 
is  so  easily  frightened,  the  horses  are  so  spirited; 
and  Mrs.  Belmont  is  almost  as  bad.  She  says  she 
really  believes  he  would  jump  from  the  box  and 
run  if  they  should  put  up  their  ears  a  little  higher 
than  usual.  But  3'ou  shall  have  one  more  ride, 
and  if  he  deserts  his  post  I   will  take  it.     That 


THE    ABDUCTION.  219 

would  be  only  tlie  exercise  of  one  of  my  early  ac- 
complislimeuts.  Dear  old  Rover,"  she  continued, 
half  to  herself.  Where  was  Willie  ?  Frequent 
letters  assured  her  that  he  was  doing  nicely  in  his 
new  vocation,  while  her  constant  memories  of  him 
added  to  his  content  as  new  prospects  opened  be- 
fore him. 

Mrs.  Eelmont  insisted  that  Lily  should  spend 
one  day  at  least  with  her  before  leaving  the  city, 
and  as  Mr.  Gaylord  was  expected  soon  her  request 
was  speedily  granted. 

"We  are  to  have  a  drive  along  the  beach,"  Lily 
went  on  to  say,  "  returning  just  as  the  moon  rises. 
I  wish  we  were  to  have  a  larger  part}-,  but  it  was 
not  spoken  of  until  yesterday.  It  will  be  delight- 
ful I  know!  Already  I  feel  the  uprising  of  that 
childhood's  memory  when  I  used  to  steal  a^way  to 
look  at  the  moon  as  it  lay  on  the  water  and  wished 
I  could  go  where  it  was." 

It  was  a  delightful  evening  as  the  little  party 
started  for  their  pleasant  ride  with  the  scent  of 
far-off  flowers  coming  to  them  on  the  soft  wings  of 
the  southern  breeze  and  the  music  of  the  great 
ocean  in  their  ears.  Into  this  the  bright  day-king 
was  about  to  take  his  nightly  plunge  from  behind 
the  royal  colors  of  purple  and  gold. 

"  What  a  little  enthusiast  you  are  about  the 
ocean!"  remarked  Mrs.  Belmont  in  response  to 
some  exclamation  of  admiration.  "  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  take  another  such  a  ride  upon  it  as 
you  told  me  of  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should  be  more  afraid  now 
than  I  then  was  if  I  were  on  those  rose-colored 
waves  yonder  rocking  and  rolling  as  they  are 
doing.     I  believe  I   should   still  imagine  that  the 


220  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

voice  of  my  mother  was  mingled  with  their  song 
lulling  me  to  sleep!"  Lily  did  not  notice  the 
agitation  of  her  companion  or  percieve  that  her 
lips  were  of  an  ashy  .hue  and  her  cheeks  sunken 
and  pale,  so  much  engrossed  was  she  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  scene  about  her. 

"  Turn  to  the  right  here,"  commanded  ]Mrs.  Bel- 
mont. 

"  Lor  !     Lor,  missus  !     Dat  road  ?" 

"  Turn  to  the  right  and  keep  silent  !"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  This  does  seem  like  an  unfrequented  path  lead- 
ing into  the  woods,"  remarked  Lily  without  any 
seeming  agitation. 

"Yes,  dear;  I  am  going  to  take  you  around  a 
little  then  come  down  abruptl}^  to  the  beach.  I 
have  been  here  and  understand  the  way  perfectly." 

"  Have  we  come  a  long  way?" 

"  Only  a  few  miles."     Both  were  again  silent. 

"  How  soon  it  gets  dark  after  the  sun  goes 
down,"  said  Lily  a  few  moments  after.  "  May  we 
not  better  think  of  returning  ?" 

"  Presently.  There,  take  to  the  left  now,  it 
will  bring  us  around  to  the  beach." 

Sam  made  no  objection  to  the  command  this 
time,  but  his  shoulders  evinced  unmistakable  signs 
of  inward  dissatisfaction  as  he  turned  the  horses  into 
the  road  which  was  narrow  and  half  overgrown 
with  grass.  Soon  they  came  to  a  thickly-wooded 
elevation,  when  Mrs.  Belmont  commanded  that 
they  should  halt!  "We  must  turn  to  the  left 
again  here  in  order  to  gain  the  main  road ;  but  I 
want  to  show  you,  dear,  more  of  the  ocean  than 
you  ever  saw  before  at  one  view.  We  will  walk  a 
little  way — to  the  opening  yonder,  while  you  will 


THE    ABDUCTION.  221 

remain  here   with  the  carriage,  Sam,  until  we  re- 
turn." 

"  It's    drejful  dark,  missus  !     Sam  don't  hke  it 

nohow !" 

"  I  am  very  much  of  Sam's  opinion,"  remarked 
Uly  who  had  alighted.  "  The  moon  will  be  up 
in  a  few  moments  ;  besides,  it  is  these  trees  that 
make  it  so  dark  here  !"  Once  more  on  firm  foot- 
ing the  fearlessness  and  buoyancy  of  her  nature 
returned  to  her,  and  the  young  girl  darted  away 
toward  the  spot  designated  with  a  light  and  rapid 
step. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  to  grope  my  way  alone," 
called  Mrs.  Belmont. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  and  will  stand  here  and 
wait  for  you,"  came  the  reply.  "  I  have  not  gained 
the  light  yet,  but  it  is  a  little  way  ahead;  come  !" 
She  waited  for  a  moment  as  she  had  said,  and 
hearing  a  step  on  the  right  called  out :  "  This  way 
Mrs.  Belmont;  where  are  you?" 

At  this  moment  a  pair  of  strong  arms  were 
thrown  about  her  and  a  voice  hissed  in  her  ear : 
"  Don't  ye  bawl,  and  ye  shan't  be  hurt !  I'se  got 
a  strong  grip  and  so  ye'd  better  be  quiet !"  She 
gave  one  shriek,  and  then  finding  he  had  bound 
her  hands  while  speaking  shouted  again  the  name 
of  "  Mrs.  Belmont !"  Quick  as  thought  a  bandage 
was  thrust  over  her  mouth  which  almost  suffocated 
her.  "Thar,  thar— I  reckon  yese'll  be  quiet 
now !"  and  taking  her  in  his  powerful  grasp  bore 
her  rapidly  away. 

"  Sam  !  Sam !"  screamed  Mrs.  Belmont ;  "  come 
quickly  !  Do  you  not  hear  the  dear  child  calling  ? 
Something  has  happened  !  Run  and  find  her !" 
She   was   close  to  the   carriage  and  there  was  no 


222  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

need  of  calling  so  loudl}- ;  but  the  poor,  frightened 
negro  did  not  move. 

"  Why  do  you  not  run?''^ 

"  O  Lor,  Ivor,  missus !  Dis  niggar  can't  do 
nothin' !  I'se  mighty  'fraid,  missus!  Can't  go 
nohow  !" 

Airs.  Belmont  wrung  her  hands  in  the  very 
abandonment  of  grief !  "  Poor,  poor  girl !''  Then 
darting  into  the  woods  she  called  with  a  loud 
voice  :  "  Lih'  !  Lil}' !"  But  the  roaring  of  the 
waves  not  far  awaj^  was  her  onlv  answer.  After 
many  exclamations  of  sorrow  and  outbursts  of 
grief;  after  much  calling  and  many  remonstrances 
with  the  poor  frightened  negro  for  his  good-for- 
nothingness  on  all  occasions,  and  this  trying  one 
in  particular,  Airs.  Belmont  reseated  herself  in  the 
carriage  and  commanded  that  Sam  should  drive  as 
rapidly  as  possible  to  the  city. 

"  Dat  I  will,  missus ;  but  what  3'e  do  wid  di 
young  lady  ?" 

"  Drive  to  the  city  as  I  command  3'ou  !''  was  the 
emphatic  answer. 

"  Yes,  missus  ;"  and  after  some  hesitation  and 
audible  ejaculations  from  Sam  the}^  gained  the 
highwa}'  and  an  hour  after  drove  up  to  the  door 
of  the  St.  Clair's. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  this  mean  !"  exclaimed 
the  old  gentleman  as  Airs.  Belmont  entered  the 
parlor  with  haggard  looks  and  her  long  black  hair 
in  disorder  about  her  face.  The  sad  stor}-  was 
soon  told  amid  sobs  and  exclamations  from  her 
hearers. 

"  What  possessed  you  to  remain  down  to  the 
beach    at    such    a   late    hour?"    interrogated   Mr. 


THE    ABDUCTION.  223 

St.   Clair   angril3^     '"  One    could    almost    suspect 
you  of  design." 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  the  wife  ;  "do  not  be 
too  rash  !  The  question  is,  what  can  we  do  for  the 
poor  girl  ?" 

"  Send  to  headquarters  of  the  police  imme- 
diately !  The  place  must  be  thoroughly  searched 
by  moonlight  and  continued  until  she  is   found !" 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Belmont  sat  like  one  who 
had  suddenly  lost  the  power  of  motion,  while  her 
keen,  dark  eyes  seemed  to  burn  the  carpet  at  her 
feet.  At  last  she  arose  and  with  the  dignit}^  of 
former  days  walked  from  the  room,  and  her  car- 
riage was  soon  after  heard  rolling  away  from  the 
door. 

"  You  have  offended  your  cousin  Mr.  St.  Clair," 
said  the  wife. 

*'  I  do  not  care  if  I  have  !  She  had  no  business 
to  be  out  in  such  a  place  without  being  better  at- 
tended at  any  rate  !" 

"  Mrs.  Gaylord  must  not  hear  of  this  to-night," 
continued  the  good  lady  musingly  as  her  husband 
left  the  room.  "How  can  I  tell  her!  It  is  terri- 
ble!" 

Day  after  day  was  the  search  continued  but 
with  no  success.  Mrs.  Belmont  had  closed  her 
doors  against  all  visitors,  taking  the  precaution, 
however,  to  station  her  servants  where  they  would 
be  able  to  bring  her  the  first  news  concerning  the 
missing  one.  Mr.  Gaylord  reached  Savannah  in 
time  to  join  in  the  search  and  administer  consola- 
tion to  his  newly-afflicted  wife. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BREAKING    OF    HOME    TIES. 

Let  the  human  soul  wander  where  it  will  with 
its  burden  of  guilt ;  let  it  try  as  best  it  can  to  hide 
its  deformity  under  the  covering  of  complacency, 
the  eye  that  never  slumbers  is  upon  it  and  an  ac- 
cusing conscience  will  continue  to  repeat  "  thy  sin 
shall  find  thee  out !"  Poor  Mrs.  Belmont!  Step 
by  step  had  she  been  led  forward  on  the  path  where 
she  little  expected  to  walk,  but  in  her  stepping 
down  from  true  womanhood  she  had  been  met  by 
the  spirit  of  evil  and  he  had  guided  her  trem- 
blingly on. 

The  third  evening  after  the  close  of  our  last 
chapter  a  tall  figure  in  feminine  attire  might  have 
been  seen  in  the  street  opposite  her  residence.  A 
half  hour  after,  the  side  door  of  that  house  opened 
softly  and  closed  again  as  a  closely-veiled  woman 
emerged  into  the  darkness.  Passing  down  the 
main  avenue  it  came  to  a  street  more  unfrequented 
where  the  two  met  and  walked  on  together  a  few 
moments  in  silence.  At  last  stopping  suddenly 
the  voice  of  Mrs.  Belmont  inquired  in  a  subdued 
tone,  "  well — what  are  you  going  to  say  ?    QuickC 

"  I'se  goin'  to  tell  ye.  I  took  the  gal  down  to 
the  boat,  but  'twas  a  mighty  hard  tug.  She  didn't 
make  no  fuss  tho',  so  I  took  off  the  handkerchier 
and   told  her  to   be  aisy    and  I'd  treat  her  well. 

225 


226  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

Then  came  lots  of  questions  but  I  didn't  tell  her 
uothin'.  The  sea  was  might}^  high  and  I  know'd 
there  was  no  gettin'  to  the  ship,  so  I  jest  hugged 
the  shore  as  near  as  I  dast  to  'til  I  got  away  where 
nobody  could  find  us,  then  I  pulled  up  where  I 
know'd  was  good  shelter  to  wait  for  the  tide,  when 
gorry  !  I'd  no  more  than  sot  foot  on  a  hard  rock 
than  the  gal  sprung  to  her  feet  and  was  off  quick 
as  a  wink  !  How  she  got  her  hands  untied 
nobody  knows!  But  she  couldn't  ha'  kept  up  five 
minutes  for  the  wind  was  risin'  and  the  waves  was 
aivful^  so  I  reckon  there's  no  more  trouble  for 
nobody  !" 

"  You  are  a  blunderer!"  gasped  his  listener. 

"  I'se  done  my  best,  that's  all !'' 

"  Here — take  that — and  remember  next  week 
you  go  to  Charleston  as  a  volunteer  to  fight,  and 
if  you  get  shot  so  much  the  better  for  3^0 u  !  This 
is  the  bount}''  to  be  given  your  famih'  !  Go — and 
let  me  and  this  transaction  die  from  your  memory 
forever!      6"^/" 

They  separated  and  Mrs.  Belmont  returne_  to 
her  home  with  the  same  stealthy  tread  as  that 
with  which  she  had  left  it.  Alone  in  her  chamber 
the  wretched  woman  listened  once  more  long  and 
helplessly  to  the  terrible  upraidings  of  con- 
science ! 

"  I  did  not  intend  all  this,"  she  cried.  "  O,  no  ! 
The  stain  of  murder  cannot  be  found  on  my  soul ! 
I  only  thought — the  great  Judge  knows  I  would 
never  have  injured  my  own  flesh  and  blood  !  The 
great  Judge  !"  she  repeated,  while  a  tremor  ran 
through  her  frame.  "  Yes,  He  knows  I  did  not 
mean    all  this!     I   was   compelled — having  taken 


BREAKING    OF    HOME   TIES.  227 

the  first  step  there  was  no  retreating !     Ah,  that 
first  act !     Whither  will  it  lead  me  ?" 

In  the  morning  the  storm  had  passed  and  Mrs. 
Belmont  came  forth  to  light  and  life  more  rigid 
and  stern  than  before.  It  was  said  that  "  her  sor- 
rows had  made  her  grave ;  yet  more  grand  and 
dignified,"  and  soon  the  "  presumptuous "  whis- 
pers of  blame  were  hushed,  for  one  so  7iobIc  as  the 
"  mistress  of  Rosedale  "  co2ild  not  be  guilty  of 
crime  !  And  the  wave  of  public  opinion  closed 
over  the  scene  and  the  waters  of  social  life  were 
calm  again. 

George  St.  Clair  had  remained  in  Charleston 
during  these  excitements,  watching  the  progress  of 
other  scenes  even  more  sad  and  cruel,  yet  free 
from  the  plague  spots  of  crime,  and  bearing  aloft 
the  banner  held  to  be  of  glory  and  honor  for  the 
reason  that  a  nation,  not  an  individual,  had  de- 
manded the  sacrifice  of  man}^  lives,  not  one ! 
South  Carolina  had  drawn  her  ample  robes  more 
closely  about  her  and  with  one  pitiful  leap  had 
plunged  over  the  fearful  precipice  down  into  the 
dark  and  unexplored  depths  of  the  yawning  chasm 
of  disunion,  dragging  after  her  a  few  of  her  un- 
fortunate sisters.  No  wonder  they  stood  and 
trembled  upon  the  brink  when  it  was  once  reached, 
for  there  were  mysteries  wholly  unlooked  for 
which  seemed  to  lose  their  golden  tints  upon 
nearer  approach  and  assume  the  dignity  of  practi- 
cal realities.  The  little  "  affair  "  at  Fort  Sumter 
somehow  had  cast  a  shadow  of  foreboding  over 
more  than  one  chivalric  heart. 

Col.  St.  Clair  met  his  commanding  officer  the 
morning  after  the  surrender  of  the  little  half- 
starved  garrison,  standing  alone  viewing  through 


228  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

his  glass  the  noble  fort  with  the  new  emblem  of 
glory  floating  over  it. 

"  Well — how  do  you  like  the  looks  of  that, 
Colonel?  The  ]\Iorning  Star  with  healing  in  its 
beams — ha?"  Taking  down  his  glass  he  turned 
to  his  companion,  who  had  not  3^et  spoken,  and 
continued  ;  "  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  you 
St.  Clair  ?  Your  face  ought  to  be  shining  with 
victory,  but  instead  it  presents  a  perfect  blank  !" 

"  As  unreadable  as  our  future,"  he  replied  with 
an  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  Ah  !  A  discovery  !  Getting  tired  already  ! 
Hope  the  white  feather  has  not  began  to  grow  as 
soon  as  this!"  There  was  a  sneer  on  the  face  of 
the  speaker  which  his  companion  did  not  fail  to 
notice. 

"  General,"  he  said  mildl}-,  "  I  acknowledge  with 
deference  3'our  superiority  in  militar}'  rank,  but  do 
not  forget  that  the  blood  of  the  St.  Clairs  runs 
through  ni}^  veins,  disseminating  through  ni}^ 
being  no  mean  cowardice,  as  you  well  know!" 
The  general  laughed. 

"You  are  awake  now  my  brave  bo}"  and  more 
like  3'ourself !  I  onl}'  wanted  to  arouse  3'ou  !  Now 
tell  us,  what  is  the  matter?  Something  more  than 
our  surroundings  disturbs  you.     Out  with  it  !  " 

"  What  time  do  the  Batons  go  north  ?"  was  the 
calm  inquiry. 

"  Next  Wednesday  in  the  steamer  from  New- 
Orleans,"  the  general  replied  in  the  same  in- 
diiferent  tone. 

Another  short  silence  ensued  when  St.  Clair 
again  remarked  :  "  We  have  won  such  a  victory 
that  we  can  afford  to  rest  for  a  time,  I  suppose  ? 
The   fact  is,  general,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  re- 


BREAKING    OF    HOME   TIES.  229 

ceived  a  telegram  this  morning  that  has  disturbed 
me  not  a  little !" 

"  I  am  glad  your  ill  humor  can  be  accounted 
for.  I  never  saw  you  appear  so  unlike  yourself; 
no  bad  news  I  hope  !" 

The  manner  of  his  companion  was  particularly 
offensive  just  then,  but  smothering  his  rage  St. 
Clair  replied  :  "  You  understand  that  I  would  like 
a  furlough  to  return  home  for  a  few  days  !  It 
seems  that  my  father  must  leave  Savannah,  where 
he  has  been  an  honored  and  beloved  citizen  for 
nearly  half  a  century,  or  forfeit  his  life,  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  he  cannot  at  his  advanced  age 
learn  immediately  the  act  of  dissembling  nor  tear 
from  his  heart  the  live-long  love  for  the  old  flag." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  St.  Clair?" 

"I  mean  just  this!  My  father  was  fired  upon 
last  night  while  sitting  quietly  in  his  own  library, 
the  ball  passing  a  little  above  his  head  and  lodged 
in  the  wall  opposite." 

The  general  was  excited.  ^'  A  blood-thirsty 
wretchr''  escaped  from  his  lips,  while  his  com- 
panion continued  calmly :  "  In  order  to  save  our 
loved  ones  we  must  push  them  off  into  the  ene- 
my's country  ;  now  honestly,  general,  has  not  that 
a  smack  of  the  ridiculous  about  it?"  Without 
waiting  for  a  reply  he  turned,  remarking  :  "  It  is 
time  that  I  was  at  work  if  I  am  permitted  to  go  on 
the  next  train." 

Anna  Pierson  was  alone  in  the  school  room,  her 
head  bowed  upon  the  desk  before  which  she  was 
sitting.  A  sheet  of  letter  paper  with  a  few  lines 
written  upon  it  was  lying  beside  her,  while  the 
idle  pen  with  the  ink  dried  upon  it  had  apparently 
fallen  on  the  page  blearing  and  spoiling  it.     Poor 


230  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

Anna !  She  had  sat  there  a  long  time  silent  and 
motionless,  seemingly  nnconscions  even  when  lit- 
tle May  stole  softly  into  the  room  to  tell  ''  Miss 
Anna''  that  Uncle  George  had  come ;  she  was 
obliged  to  run  back  with  the  intelligence  that 
Aliss  Anna  was  asleejD ;  neither  did  the  tread  of 
heavier  feet  arouse  her  when  nearly  half  an  hour 
later  George  St.  Clair  quietly  pushed  back  the 
half-open  door  and  stood  irresolutel}^  for  a  moment 
on  the  threshold.  She  was  not  asleep  as  he  well 
knew,  for  a  low,  deep  sigh  reached  him,  and  the 
little  hand  that  hung  so  listlessly  over  the  corner 
of  the  desk  on  which  her  head  was  resting 
trembled.  In  a  moment  he  was  beside  her,  and 
taking  the  bowed  head  between  his  hands  he 
raised  it  tenderly  and  looked  down  into  the  tear- 
stained  face. 

"  Anna!" 

"  George  St.  Clair  !"  she  exclaimed  with  almost 
a  shriek,  at  the  same  time  attempting  to  rise.  But 
he  held  her  fast. 

"  No,  Anna  !  It  takes  a  longer  time  than  \'0U 
have  given  me  to  get  a  perfect  daguerreot^'pe  !  I 
want  the  memory  of  this  just  as  I  found  it,  tear- 
stained  and  all !  It  is  no  more  than  I  deserve.  I 
should  not  have  been  so  cruelly  selfish  as  not  to 
have  told  you  weeks  ago  to  leave  Savannah  and 
return  to  your  northern  home." 

"Is  it  too  late  now?" 

"  No,  but  you  must  be  speedy  !  More  than  this, 
you  must  take  my  father  and  mother  and  Ellen 
you  !" 

"  With  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  Anna  ;  we  cannot  leave  them  here  after 
what  has  happened." 


BREAKING    OF    HOME    TIES.  231 

"  O,  no  ;  I  shall  be  so  happy  !      But   George — " 

"What,  Anna?" 

"  ]\Iy  mother  is  a  widow  in  humble  circumstan- 
ces— " 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  I  would  burden  yourself 
or  your  mother  ?" 

"  Not  that,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  was  only 
thinking  of  the  change  from  a  home  of  luxury  to 
one  of  only  comfort,  yet  very  peaceful  and  dear,  at 
least  to  me.  But  it  would  be  delightful  if  I  could 
make  them  as  happy  and  joyous  in  my  humble 
home  as  they  have  made  me  in  theirs.  Will  they 
let  me  try?" 

"  Has  no  one  but  the  three  you  have  mentioned 
added  a  morsel  to  your  enjoyment  since  you  have 
been  an  inmate  of  this  home  ?" 

The  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  and  brow  and 
she  struggled  to  liberate  herself  that  he  might  not 
look  so  intently  down  into  her  swimming  eyes, 
which  she  well  knew  would  tell  him  more  than 
she  would  have  him  know. 

"  Then  there  was  no  one  else !  Well — take 
them  ;  I  will  consign  them  to  your  care  until  the 
detestable  struggle  is  over  !  When  this  is  done  I 
will  relieve  you.  Bertha  is  a  true  rebel  and  will 
have  no  fears  in  remaining  where  she  is." 

The  voice  of  the  speaker  was  low  and  tremulous 
as  he  uttered  these  words,  and  Anna  thought  that 
she  had  never  before  seen  his  face  so  pale  and  thin. 
He  had  permitted  her  to  rise  and  she  now  stood 
before  him.  Did  she  love  him  ?  She  had  asked 
herself  that  question  many  months  previously,  and 
although  her  lips  were  prompt  in  their  denial  her 
heart  had  remained  silent.  It  throbbed  now  as 
she  met  his  troubled  gaze  and  beheld  the  look  of 


232  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

sorrow  on  his  face,  It  was  for  a  moment  on^3^ 
For  the  first  time  her  e^^es  fell  upon  his  military 
dress  ;  it  was  a  rebel  uniform  !  A  flood  of  recollec- 
tions rolled  in  upon  her  in  deadly  combat.  Would 
that  hand  which  had  so  lately  touched  her  cheek 
spill  the  life-blood  of  those  who  were  so  dear  to 
her?  The  thought  sent  the  blood  back  to  her 
heart  and  left  cheek  and  lip  pallid  and  cold  !  With 
an  involuntary  shudder  she  laid  her  trembling 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
words  died  on  her  pale  lips.  George  St.  Clair 
passed  his  arm  about  her  and  drew  her  to  a  seat  on 
the  sofa.  "You  are  ill ;  sit  here  until  I  procure 
some  water  !" 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  not  ill  ;  it  is  over  now.  You  came 
to  talk  to  me  about  going  home.  It  is  very  kind 
of  you  ;"  and,  rising,  she  extended  her  hand.  He 
took  it  t'^-uderl}'  in  his  as  she  continued  :  "  I  joy- 
fully accept  the  charge  you  have  placed  in  ni}-  care, 
and  will  endeavor  to  be  to  them  all  3^ou  could  wish; 
and  now,  before  our  last  farewell,  make  me  one 
promise,  will  you."  Her  lips  quivered,  but  with 
an  eff"ort  she  thrust  back  the  tears  that  were  Mell- 
ing  up  from  her  full  heart,  while  her  hand  lay 
motionless  in  his.  "  It  is  this  :  Should  one  or  both 
of  my  brothers,  through  the  fickleness  of  war,  be 
thrown  into  your  power,  that  you  will  let  the  mem- 
ories of  the  last  eighteen  months  soften  your  heart 
with  mercy  toward  them." 

"  Has  this  uniform  converted  me  into  a  mon- 
ster ?  I  do  not  wonder  ?  Yet  I  promise  you  all 
and  more  !  God  onlj^  knows  what  those  memories 
of  which  you  speak  will  do  with  me.  Now  we  will 
go  and  talk  the  departure  over  with  the  rest,  yet 
not  with  that  pale  face,  Anna.     It  would  add  a  new 


BREAKING    OF    HOME    TIES.  233 

pang  to  the  sorrows  of  my  parents,  who  are  now 
unhappy  with  the  prospects  of  expulsion,  as  they 
term  it.  Have  you  not  one  kind  word  for  me  now 
that  we  are  so  soon  to  part,  perhaps  never  to  meet 
again  ?  O,  Anna,  I  had  torn  from  my  life's  his- 
tory several  pages  which  I  had  determined  to  read 
to  you  to-da}',  but  cannot  now."  He  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  "  Farewell  !  we  will  go.  To- 
morrow, no  doubt,  you  will  be  busy  ;  the  next  day 
we  must  be  in  Charleston  to  intercept  a  New  Orleans 
steamer  going  north.  This  route  will  be  a  little 
longer  but  more  agreeable,  as  every  train  is  thor- 
oughly searched  for  au}^  who  may  be  going  thither 
with  more  information  concerning  our  plans  than 
would  be  desirable.  Again  farewell."  He  dropped 
her  hand  and  left  the  room. 

Anna  sank  down  again  on  the  sofa,  and  for  a  few 
moments  gave  vent  to  her  pent-up  tears.  The  suc- 
ceeding day  was  full  of  sadness  and  bustle.  Many 
tears  were  shed,  and  presentiments  indulged  in. 
The  invincible  Bertha  alone  stood  firm  and  appa- 
rently unmoved.  Only  once  did  the  son  and  brother 
appear  with  the  family.  He  came  to  dinner,  but 
disappeared  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  Anna  tried  to 
think  of  her  home,  where  she  would  soon  be,  of 
the  joy  of  her  fond  mother  at  the  reunion,  but  it 
was  piercing  the  cloud  to  draw  the  sunshine  from 
beyond. 

In  one  week  the  little  party  arrived  safely  in 
Washington  ;  from  there  they  took  the  cars  for 
Baltimore,  and  thence  to  New  York. 

A  few  miles  back  from  the  noble  old  Hudson 
stands  a  pleasant  little  village,  nestled  in  among 
the  green  hills  and  wide-spreading  trees,  cosy  and 
quiet,   excepting   where   the  rapid   stream  comes 


234  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

rushing  down  through  the  valle}^  turning  in  its 
course  two  huge  splashing  wheels  that  never  grow 
weary  as  they  keep  on  with  their  work,  propelling 
the  machiner}^  of  the  massive  cotton  mills  which 
were  the  life  and  pride  of  the  inhabitants  for  many 
miles  around.  It  looked  calm  and  peaceful  as  seen 
from  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  where  Anna  was  sit- 
ting, and  her  heart  bounded  with  ecstacy  as  the 
pleasant  remembrances  of  her  home  life  came  sweep- 
ing over  her.  She  had  been  sitting  with  the  hand 
of  Ellen  St.  Clair  clasped  tightly  in  her  own,  ap- 
parently listening  to  her  exclamations  of  delight 
at  the  grand  scenery  through  which  they  were 
passing,  while  in  truth  she  was  barkening  to  other 
voices  that  came  up  from  the  past,  and  gazing  on 
the  many  sweet  faces  that  filled  her  heart  with  a 
new  joy,  and  drew  back  for  a  while  the  dark  cur- 
tains that  seemed  to  hang  between  her  and  the 
shadowed  future. 

"  I  declare,  I  do  not  believe  you  have  heard  one 
word  I  have  been  saying."  This  from  Ellen  at 
last.  "  All  of  that  ecstasy  is  wasted  ;  and  I  in- 
dulge in  it  so  seldom  !  Tell  me,  Anna,  wdiat  were 
you  thinking  about?" 

"  Of  home,  dear  Ellen,  and  how  happj^  we  will 
all  be  together." 

"  But  father  thinks  we  may  better  take  rooms  at 
the  the  hotel  ;  he  is  afraid." 

"  I  understand  all.  They  will  be  better  ac- 
quainted with  our  habits  soon,  and,  it  may  be,  will 
think  more  leniently  of  us  ;  but  I  am  responsible 
for  your  safe-keeping,  you  know,  and  could  not 
think  of  extending  m}^  care  over  more  than  a  mile 
to  the  hotel."     Anna  smiled,  while  Ellen's  laugh 


BREAKING    OF    HOME   TIES.  235 

readied  the  parents  who  were  sitting  some  distance 
from  them. 

"They  are  happy,  wife,"  suggested  Mr.  St. 
Clair,  "  and  I  reckon  we  might  as  well  be  so  too, 
and  make  the  best  of  circumstances." 

The  little  circle  in  the  widow's  cottage  would 
have  been  happy,  yes  joyous,  had  there  not 
been  two  vacant  chairs  at  the  evening  gatherings 
and  at  the  morning  devotions,  while  the  sound  of 
war  came  to  them  from  the  distance,  telling  of 
bloodshed,  of  anguish,  of  heart-strings  breaking 
and  homes  made  desolate  forever.  It  was  sad  ;  but 
the  widow  never  ceased  to  pray,  and  with  her  peti- 
tions there  went  up  a  meed  of  praise  that  He  had 
given  her  the  power  to  offer,  on  the  altar  of  sacrifice, 
her  first  born,  with  his  brother,  both  true  and  noble. 

Colonel  St.  Clair's  letters  were  frequent,  and 
although  full  of  love  and  solicitude  for  his  parents 
and  Ellen,  he  had  never  more  than  casually  men- 
tioned the  name  of  Anna  in  any  of  them.  But  his 
sister  was  with  her  and  she  was  happy.  Having 
never  herself  known  the  love  of  a  sister,  she  fan- 
cied that  in  this  dear  friend  she  had  at  last  found 
a  recompense  for  her  years  of  unsatisfied  longing. 
Milton  has  said  "  The  happiness  of  a  nation  con- 
sists in  true  religious  piety,  justice,  prudence,  tern-' 
perance,  fortitude,  and  the  contempt  of  avarice  and 
ambition ;  they  in  whom  these  virtues  dwell  emi- 
nently need  not  kings  to  make  them  happy  ;  but 
are  the  architects  of  their  own  happiness,  and 
whether  to  themselves  or  others  are  not  less  than 
kings."  And  we  add,  the  country  who  has  these 
virtues  and  lives  upon  the  principles  emanating 
therefrom  needs  not  war  to  wipe  out  injustice  and 
wrong. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LEADING   HER   ON. 

The  path  downward  is  easy  of  descent,  even 
though  the  end  thereof  be  eternal  ruin  !  There 
were  thousands  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writ- 
ing (as  well  as  in  all  stages  of  human  life)  who 
threw  themselves  from  the  lofty  pinnacle  of  true 
nobility  to  grovel  awhile  in  the  slough  of  wicked- 
ness, then  perish  forever !  How  terrible  must  be 
the  awakening  of  such  a  soul,  if  the  kind  Ruler 
should  ever  permit  the  awakening  to  come,  and 
yet  worse,  sadly  worse,  would  be  the  unconscious 
sleep  that  plunges  its  victim  over  the  precipice  of 
ruin  to  be  aroused  at  last  beyond  the  boundaries 
of  hope ! 

One  night  after  the  first  signal  defeat  of  the 
southern  army,  which  seemed  to  dim  for  awhile 
the  bright  halo  of  victory  that  had  darted  up  the 
horizon  from  northern  skies,  a  circle  of  ladies  were 
gathered  in  a  spacious  parlor  in  Charleston,  doubt- 
less for  business  purposes,  and  those  of  no  ordinary 
character,  if  we  should  judge  by  the  earnest  de- 
bates that  were  carried  on  in  one  corner  by  a 
group  apart  from  the  rest,  or  by  the  sage  counte- 
nances and  serious  deportment  of  the  others. 

One  of  the  number,  a  tall  lady  in  black,  had 
arisen  from  her  seat  on  the  sofa,  where  she  had 
been    discussing  for  a  long  time  some  important 

237 


2>)S  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

subject  in  which  all  appeared  particularly  in- 
terested, and  was  now  walking  with  measured 
tread  and  folded  arms  up  and  down  the  long  par- 
lors, seemingly  unconscious  of  the  low  buzz  of 
subdued  voices  which  fell  on  her  ear  at  ever}'  turn, 
for  her  dark,  keen  e^-es  had  never  once  been  raised 
from  the  carpet  on  which  she  was  treading. 

Just  outside  of  the  window  stood  a  large  magno- 
lia tree  whose  upper  branches  reached  the  narrow 
opening  made  1:)y  letting  down  the  window  to 
admit  the  fragrant  air  from  the  blossoms  outside. 
To-night  this  had  not  been  neglected,  and  as  the 
heav}^  lace  curtains  were  pushed  slightl}^  to  one 
side  a  pair  of  dark,  wondering  e3'es  peered  down 
upon  the  scene  below.  In  the  kitchen  another 
group  had  gathered;  their  faces  were  darker  and 
their  clothincr  coarser  and  homelier  than  those 
upon  which  the  slave  bo}^  was  gazing  from  his 
elevated  seat  in  the  magnolia  tree,  but  the  all- 
absorbing  subject  had  fired  the  blood  and  quick- 
ened the  pulse  alike  of  each.  Harry  had 
determined  to  learn  as  much  as  possible  about  the 
excitement,  and  his  heart  had  beat  rapidly  as  he 
listened  to  much  that  had  been  said  by  those  who 
had  occupied  the  sofa  directl}'  under  the  window  ; 
but  he  could  hear  little  now  and  he  waited  im- 
patiently for  the  return  of  the  principal  speaker 
who  provokingl}^  continued  her  thoughtful  promen- 
ade. He  was  thinking  of  the  light,  frail  mulatto 
girl  down  stairs  who  was  nervously  waiting  for 
his  appearance  and  the  new  secret  he  was  to  con- 
fide in  her ;  and  the  half  hour  seemed  to  extend  to 
an  interminable  length. 

It  ended  at  last.     The  tall  figure  reseated  itself 
in    the    chair,  and  the  eager  face   of  the   listener 


LEADING    HER    ON.  239 

pressed  hard  to  the  frame  of  the  window  that  his 
ear  might  not  lose  a  word. 

"Yes;  /  will  goP^  were  the  first  that  reached 
him. 

"  You  have  decided  nobl}^ !"  exclaimed  several 
in  a  breath. 

"It  is  just  what  I  knew  you  would  do  after  de- 
liberating upon  it !"  replied  the  one  who  seemed 
to  be  particularly  addressed.  "  You  are  so  much 
better  fitted  for  the  mission  than  any  one  present ! 
Your  queenly  bearing  and  imperious  manners 
would  command  the  confidence  and  respect  of 
strangers.  Then  your  acquaintance  in  Washing- 
ton would  so  materially  assist  you  !  It  has  been 
proven  that  our  army  must  act  with  skill  as  well 
as  power,  and  as  the  colonel  says,  '  we  imist  learn 
something  of  their  plans  before  they  are  brought 
against  us,  if  we  are  to  overthrow  them.'  For  this 
you  are  well  adapted  as  you  will  have  no  trouble 
in  mingling  with  the  most  refined,  or  in  select  ir- 
cles  where  such  things  are  ably  discussed."  Mrs. 
Belmont  had  been  sitting  during  this  speech 
seemingly  absorbed  in  her  meditations,  but  the 
listener  outside  lost  not  a  word. 

"  You  will  disguise  yourself  in  some  way,  I  sup- 
pose," suggested  another.  Mrs.  Belmont  aroused 
herself  at  this. 

"I  will  take  one  hundred  dollars  only  of  the 
money  subscribed,  and  will  return  to  this  house 
one  week  from  to-day  without  a  card  and  my  name 
shall  be  '  Mrs.  Southey.'  If  Harry  does  not  recog- 
nize me  I  shall  feel  secure.  His  keen  eyes  and 
quick  perceptions  would  penetrate  my  mask  I 
know  if  it  could  be  done.  I  intend  it  shall  be 
complete,  but  this  shall  be  my  test!" 


240       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

An  approving  Inim  went  ronncl  the  circle.  "  But 
supposing  he  should  know  you?"  suggested  the 
mistress.  "I  fear  that  half- blooded  rascal — he 
knows  altogether  too  much  if  I  can  read  aright  the 
merr}^  twinkle  in  his  eyes  and  the  inquiring  look 
with  which  he  scrutinizes  every  stranger  who 
visits  here.  But  we  will  tr}-  him.  We  must  not 
shrink  from  an}-  imaginar}'  ill  when  3'ou  are  to 
risk  so  much  for  our  good,"  continued  the  lad}-. 

Harry  gave  a  low  chuckle  as  he  thought, 
"  Neber  you  fear  dis  chile  ;  he  won't  know  nothin' 
dis  time  su'  as  de  worl'  !  Jus'  3'ou  watch  his  e3'e 
when  IMrs — ]\Irs — what  de  name;  well,  'twant 
Belmont,  dat\s  sartin  !  He-he — reckon  dis  'half- 
blood  rascal '  got  'nuf  dis  time!"  And  the  nimble 
figure  scrambled  noiselessl}'  down  to  the  ground 
and  darted  awa}'  to  find  Nelh'  who  was  anxiously 
M'aiting  for  him. 

"  O  Harry  !"  she  exclaimed  as  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  ;  "I  Avas  so  'feared  3'ou'd  be  wanted  !  I 
heard  de  bell  ring  and  de  ladies  are  agoin'!" 

"  Let  'em  go,  Nell}- ;  3'ou'll  be  a  lad}'  some  da3' 
jes'  as  good  as  an3'  on  'em!  I  heered  lots  and 
we's  goin'  t'  be  free  !      Hurrah  !" 

"O  Harry,  hush;   somebody '11  hear  ye,  sartin'." 

"  Oh  I  could  3'ell  jus'  like  de  sojers !  Hur- 
rah !  But  dis  chile's  got  to  wait ;  de  good  time's 
comin',  Nell3%  de  good  time's  comin';  but  dar's  de 
bell — dat  means  dis  rascal,  su',"  and  awa3'  the  light 
figure  bounded,  leaping  up  two  steps  at  once  as  he 
proceeded  to  the  upper  hall  where  some  ladies 
were  standing  read3'  to  take  their  departure, 

"  Where  were  3'ou,  bo3',  to  make  Mrs.  Belmont 
wait  so  long?  I  rang  twice,"  exclaimed  the  mis- 
tress,   as    he    came     slowly     into    their    presence. 


LEADING    HER    ON.  241 

"  'Spects  I  must  'a'fell  asleep  missus.  Didn't  hear 
onl}^  dis  once." 

"  You  had  better  keep  awake  another  time.  Now 
hand  the  ladies  to  their  carriages,  and  see  if  j^ou 
cannot  be  as  polite  as  3'our  3-oung  master  would  be 
if  he  were  here."  There  was  a  hearty  laugh  as  the 
servant  opened  the  door,  bowing  most  obsequiously 
as  several  passed  out  before  him,  he  following  to 
do  the  honors  of  the  "  young  gentleman." 

At  the  appointed  time  Mrs.  Belmont  appeared 
at  the  door  of  her  friend,  and  was  ushered  into  the 
parlor  by  the  facetious  Harry,  who  bowed  as  un- 
concernedly as  the  lady  herself  could  desire.  Upon 
extending  his  hand  for  the  card  he  was  supposed 
to  expect,  she  said,  blandly  :  "  Tell  your  mistress 
that  Mrs.  Southey  is  waiting  for  her  ;"  and  bowing 
low  the  servant  left  the  room  to  obey  her  com- 
mand. On  the  staircase  he  halted  to  perfoim  sev- 
eral ludicrous  gyrations,  while  the  merry  twinkle 
in  his  eyes  laughed  itself  out,  and  when  he  reached 
his  lady's  private  boudoir  they  told  no  tale  of  in- 
ward excitement. 

"Mis'  Southey  is  a  waitin', missus."  The  sharp 
eyes  of  the  m^istress  were  upon  him,  but  he  re- 
mained unmoved,  whistling  a  few  low  notes  at  the 
same  time  beating  a  subdued  tattoo  upon  the  dcor. 

"Mrs.  Southey  ?"  repeated  the  lad3^  without  re- 
moving her  gaze,  but  not  a  muscle  moved  in  the 
face  she  was   scanning. 

"  Tell  her  to  come  to  me,"  she  continued,  srd 
the  servant  departed.  Great  would  have  been  the 
chagrin  of  the  mistress  had  she  seen  the  hiimble 
slave  boy  as  he  descended  to  the  parlor  telcw. 
Catching  a  glimpse  of  Nelly  at  the  farther  end  of 
the    long    hall,  he    threw   himself   into    the    iTiCst 


242  THE  MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

laughable  contortions,  which  provoked  in  her 
convulsive  chuckles  at  the  same  time  adding 
a  reproof  by  a  dubious  shake  of  the  head.  In  a 
few  moments  more  the  door  closed  behind  Mrs. 
Belmont  as  she  entered  her  friend's  room  and  the 
two  were  alone  together. 

"  I  am  sure  he  had  not  the  least  idea  who  you 
were,  and  no  wonder  !  I  do  not  believe  I  should 
recognize  you  m3^self  if  we  should  meet  on  the 
street;"  remarked  the  lady  as  her  visitor  seated 
herself."  "  How  strangely  you  look  in  that  gray 
traveling  suit !" 

"Not  more  so  to  you  than  to  myself;"  was  the 
low  reply. 

"  Your  hair  put  back  so  plainly,  and  those 
glasses,  have  really  added  half  a  score  to  your 
years.  No  one  will  doubt  your  origin,  or  that  you 
are  an  English  lady  of  the  old  school."  The 
speaker  laughed  merrily,  but  the  visitor  remained 
calm  and  silent,  having  been  led  by  her  companion 
faraway  into  the  future  where  new  scenes  and  new 
duties  awaited  her.  It  was  a  perilous  task  she 
had  undertaken,  and  no  one  understood  it  better 
than  herself.  But  the  last  few  years  had  been  fit- 
ting her  for  the  risks  she  were  to  encounter, 

"  It  was  true  that  no  one  within  the  circle  of  my 
acquaintances  was  so  well  fitted  to  act  this  part  in 
the  great  drama  of  war,"  was  her  conclusion,  and 
no  one  had  such  a  reason  for  hating  the  foe  as  had 
she,  and  while  she  was  performing  this  great  ser- 
vice for  her  country  she  could  at  the  same  time  pay 
off  the  debt  of  her  blighted  hopes.  During  the 
short  visit  quite  another  scene  was  being  enacted 
below  stairs.  Harry  and  Nelly  were  standing  to- 
gether in  one  corner  of  the  large  kitchen  engaged 


LEADING    HER   ON.  243 

in  close  conversation,  notwithstanding  the  protes- 
tations of  Aunt  Nancy,  who  re-iterated  a  dozen 
times  a  day  at  least  the  declaration  "  Dat  boy  Harry 
don't  arn  de  salt  in  his  porridge."  For  once  her 
words  rattled  away  in  the  air  and  fell  unheeded  on 
the  ears  they  were  aimed  at. 

"  I  tell  you,  Nell,"  said  the  slave,  "  dar's  some- 
thin'  goin'  t'  happen  jes  suits  dis  chap.  We'll 
have  a  fine  house  all  our  own,  and  some  little 
Sambo  to  take  care  ob  de  chilerns,  and,  and — " 

"  Go  away,  you  Harry,"  and  the  girl  slapped  his 
round  cheek,  with  a  3^ellow  hand  that  delighted  to 
push  back  the  curtains  hanging  about  her  future 
as  well  as  did  her  lover. 

"  Well,  I  hearn  'em  talk,  and  old  Ben  sang  '  de 
Good  Time's  Comin',  louder  last  Sabba-daydan  he 
eber  did  afore.  It's  comin'  Nell.  I  jes  thought — I'll 
tell  Ben,  and  set  him  praying  for  it.  He'll  make 
it  all  right,  sartin,  sure;  and  when  we  get  de  big 
house  we'll  take  old  Ben  to  mind  de  chilerns. 
He'll  like  dat  for  pay,  sartin."  Nelly  laughed,  and 
declared  again  that  Aunt  Nancy  wanted  her,  then 
darted  away,  followed  by  the  laugh  of  her  lover. 

Three  weeks  after  Mrs.  Belmont  arrived  safely 
in  Washington.  In  due  time  she  took  up  her  lodg- 
ing with  the  family  whom  she  had  known  several 
years  previously,  and  who  well  understood  her 
mission  in  the  city. 

As  the  "  wealthy  English  lady  who  had  fled  from 
the  South  on  account  of  her  anti-war  principles," 
she  was  admitted  to  the  most  private  circles,  where 
she  promulgated  her  "  abolition  "  doctrines  to  the 
evident  satisfaction  of  her  numerous  admirers. 
It  did  seem  a  very  strange  thing  that  the  antici- 
pated movements   of  the  Union   army  should  be 


244  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE- 

known  to  the  eneui}^  long  before  the}'  were  broiighl 
to  maturity.  But  had  the  puzzled  authorities  setii 
the  tall  gentleman  who  came  leisurely  up  the  long 
avenue  three  times  a  week  until  he  reached  the 
farther  end,  where  he  would  look  carelessly  about 
him,  and  stopping  under  a  certain  tree  take  ficni 
beneath  a  stone  a  folded  paper,  then  walk  as  slowly 
on,  they  would  have  easil}'  imagined  that  in  this 
w^as  the  myster}-  concealed.  Yet  it  would  have  re- 
quired a  great  amount  of  credulity  to  believe  that 
Airs.  Southc}',  who  had  so  wcm  the  hearts  of  the 
people,  could  have  possibly  known  of,  much  less 
have  written,  those  mysterious  epistles.  Onl}^  once 
did  her  large  eyes  lose  their  determined  look,  or 
the  crimson  wave  of  self  reproach  loll  over  her 
stern  face,  but  the  calm  face  of  our  noble  Presi- 
dent, as  he  held  her  hand  in  his,  scrutinizing  her 
face,  brought  them  both  to  view.  Did  those  pene- 
trating eyes  pierce  the  mask  she  uas  wearing  ? 
Did  that  manly  soul  discover  the  spirit  of  rebel- 
lion looking  out  through  those  orbs  that  so  shrank 
back  at  his  gaze  ?  It  was  only  for  a  moment.  He 
bowed  while  the  old  smile  returned  to  his  plain 
face  as  he  extended  his  hand  to  the  next  visitor. 

Abraham  Lincoln  sleeps  to-day  in  a  martyr's 
grave,  but  the  touch  of  his  warm  hand,  without 
one  stain  of  human  blood  upon  it,  and  that  look 
from  those  reproachful  eyes,  so  full  of  love  and 
good  will  to  all,  sank  with  a  heavy  weight  down 
into  the  traitor's  heart  that  night  and  were  living, 
real  things  to  the  wretched  woman,  who  lived  to 
mourn  over  the  sin  of  treachery,  not  only  to  her 
country  but  "her  home-loves.  Alas!  that  any 
should  think  to  subdue  the  tempest  of  remorse 
which  comes  to  beat  upon  it,  by  prevarication  or 


LEADING    HER    ON.  245 

crime.  The  eye  of  justice  cannot  be  deceived. 
Did  these  thoughts  sometimes  come  to  the  miser- 
able woman,  who  tossed  upon  her  bed  as  the  mem- 
ories from  the  past  came  back  to  torment  her? 
Where  was  her  child  ?  Her  Lillian  ?  It  had  been 
many  months  since  she  had  heard  from  her  di- 
rectly, and  there  were  times  when  the  terrible  pre- 
sentiment of  coming  disgrace  would  haunt  her 
dreams  and  fill  her  waking  moments  with  dread. 
The  war — the  terrible  war  !  Her  son  w^as  probably 
in  it,  surrounded  with  the  dangers  of  a  common 
soldier.  George  St.  Clair  was  in  it.  The  mighty 
wave  of  devastation  was  rolling  southward,  and 
Rosedale  was  cut  off  from  her  approach,  perhaps 
forever.  Where  was  the  end  to  be  ?  What  won- 
der that  she  trembled  at  every  report  of  aggres- 
sion or  conflict  that  sped  towards  her  !  But  w^orse 
than  all  this  was  the  terrible  consciousness  that 
sin  had  stained  her  soul  with  blood.  Never  for  a 
moment  did  the  awakened  conscience  cease  its  up- 
braidings.  In  vain  did  she  answer  back  :  "  Say 
not  this  of  me.  Murder  is  7iot  one  of  my  trans- 
gressions. I  did  not  mean  all  that!" 
But  the  voice  would  not  be  silenced. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    DAY    IN    THE    HOSPITAL. 

On  almost  every  oreeze  came  the  sounds  of  con- 
flicts or  victories, or  defeats,  or  mournings  and  heart- 
breakings,  which  chimed  harshly  with  the  shouts 
of  exultations  and  cheers  of  the  conquering  hosts. 
On  every  breeze  went  up  also  to  the  great  Father 
and  God  of  battles  the  wail  of  anguish,  the  cry 
for  mercy  from  breaking  hearts,  as  well  as  the  ear- 
nest plea  for  protection  for  loved  ones  in  the  per- 
ils of  war ;  and  the  gentle  spirit  whispered  to  the 
despairing  soul,  "  What  I  do  ye  know  not  now, 
but  ye  shall  know."  Blessed  comforter!  What 
could  be  done  ivith  all  the  mysteries  of  life  that 
continually  cfe.ep  about  us  to  chill  and  paralyze  our 
being  were  it  not  for  its  peaceful  influences  ?  But 
let  us  return  to  glance  at  the  terrible  battle  of  Bull 
Run,  which  sent  dismay  into  thousands  of  homes 
where  the  dearest  ties  of  love  were  severed  and  the 
strongest  links  of  earth  broken  forever.  Let  his- 
tory paint  the  dark  cloud  that  hung  over  the 
blood-stained  field,  casting  their  sombre  shadows 
on  the  lonely  graves  of  the  early  sacrificed. 

There  was  much  wondering  in  high  circles  how 
the  plan  of  attack  was  so  well  known  to  the  oppo- 
site forces,  which  would  have  ceased  could  they 
have  looked  in  upon  the  "  wealthy  English  lady  " 
for  a  moment,  who  with  her  hostess,  was  waiting 

247 


248  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

for  their  private  messenger  who  was  expected  every 
moment  with  the  latest  news  from  the  seat  of  con- 
flict, which  was  to  assnre  them  that  the  Union  army 
was  defeated.  The  dignity  of  the  mistress  of 
Rosedale  was  for  the  time  laid  aside  while  she  rev- 
eled   in  the  very  abandonment  of  her  exuberant 

joy- 

"  This  pays  me  after  all  for  the  risks  I  have 
run,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  toss  of  her  regal  head. 
"  Wondering  eyes  will  flash  to-da^^  and  aching 
hearts  exult.  I  have  been  waiting  for  this.  The 
hour  of  vengeance  never  loses  itself  though  the 
whole  world  should  turn  over  in  wholesale  confu- 
sion." 

"  Do  not,  Mrs.  Southey!"  pleaded  her  compan- 
ion, "  for  it  seems  even  to  me  that  there  is  a  sure 
prophecy  in  your  words.  Vengeance !  Will  it 
hunt  us  out  at  last?" 

"  Hush  !  I  was  not  speaking  of  such  minor 
facts  as  ourselves.  The  prophecy,  as  you  term  it, 
only  incidentally  bubbled  up  with  the  shouts  of 
victory  ;  that  was  all."  But  the  stern  face  paled 
perceptibly  as  she  uttered  these  careless  words. 

"  It  may  be  well  to  shout,  still  I  advise  you  not 
to  be  too  highly  elated,  for  remember  the  reports 
are  not  all  in  yet,  and  I  am  in  possession  of  a  fe\v 
drawbacks  as  to  the  final  results.  By  the  way,  did 
you  notice  the  remark  of  that  senator  last  night 
^out  traitors  and  spies  ?  I  looked  up  to  see  if  you 
experienced  any  peculiar  sensations  about  the 
throat." 

"  Did  I  show  an}^  signs  of  suffocation  ?" 

"  I  did  not  perceive  it." 

"  Then  your  look  was  not  very  penetrating.  I 
hope  all  of  my  friends  will  be  equally  considerate." 


A   DAY    IN    THE    HOSPITAL.  249 

• 

**  Then  you  did  feel  a  little  uncomfortable  ?" 

"  Only  for  a  moment.  I  might,  of  course,  make 
a  misstep  that  would  slightly  disarrange  my  mask, 
and  it  would,  as  you  know,  be  uncomfortable  to 
have  curious  eyes  peering  beneath  it,  and  the  pos- 
sibility, at  times,  causes  a  little  unpleasantness." 
A  smile  played  feebly  across  the  face  of  the  speak- 
er, which  soon  died  away,  leaving  cheek  and  brow 
a  shade  paler  than  before.  No  doubt  her  soul  had 
taken  another  peep  through  the  rifted  curtain 
that  was  shutting  out  her  future,  and  beheld  some- 
thing that  must  have  appalled  her.  And  what 
wonder?     "The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  continued  the  other 
lady,  after  a  long  pause,  "  that  we  must  follow  the 
noble  example  of  the  patriotic  ladies  of  Washing- 
ton and  visit  the  hospitals.  We  might  do  great 
good  there.  Kindly  hearts  and  willing  hands  will, 
without  doubt,  be  in  great  demand  on  the  present 
occasion.  As  for  me,  I  am  anxious  to  be  about 
the  work,"  and  she  turned  to  the  window. 

"  A  grand  thought,  and  shows  conclusively  that 
you  have  remarkable  diplomatic  powers,  altogether 
unlooked  for  in  our  sex.  I  shall  be  ready 
to  follow  your  lead  in  such  a  noble  suggestion  at 
our  earliest  convenience  ;  but  it  will  never  do  to  go 
empty-handed.  The  poor  fellows  will  need  many 
things.  If  we  are  to  be  ministering  angels,  you 
know,  we  must  take  the  oil  and  wine." 

How  different  from  all  this  were  the  feelings  and 
aspirations  of  the  little  group  gathered  together  in 
the  widow's  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the  grand  old 
Hudson.  Three  days  after  the  above  conversation 
in  Washington,  Anna  Pierson  returned  from  the 
village  post-office,  as  was  her  custom,  bearing  in 


250  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

her  hand  several  papers,  which  were  distributed  as 
usual. 

"  No  letters,  mother,"  was  the  prompt  reply  to 
the  anxious,  inquiring  look  as  she  entered.  "  It 
is  not  time,  unless  they  were  written  immediately, 
and  we  should  not  expect  that." 

Her  words  were  cheerful,  for  she  had  carefully 
prepared  them  during  her  walk  ;  but  her  heart  was 
troubled  with  fearful  apprehensions,  and  she  dared 
not  consult  one  of  those  silent  messengers  that 
were  clasped  so  tightly  in  her  hand  until  she  had 
entered  her  own  room  and  seated  herself  by  the 
window.  Then  she  cast  her  eyes  over  the  long 
columns  :  "  The  Great  Battle  !  From  our  own 
Correspondent."  Why  did  she  not  read  further? 
She  had  longed  all  day  for  that  ver}-  article,  and 
now  that  it  was  before  her,  her  eyes  turned  toM-ards 
the  clouds  in  the  west  as  though  her  thoughts 
were  all  centered  within  their  shadowy  folds.  Ah, 
there  are  many  hearts  to-da}^  wherein  these  sad 
memories  still  linger.  TJicy  could  tell  why  Anna 
Pierson  did  not  read,  why  she  shrank  from  the  ter- 
rible revelations  that  might  be  before  her.  There 
were  many  names  included  in  the  correspondent's 
letter  over  which    her  eyes  hurriedly  ran. 

"  Thank  God  !  Fell  from  her  lips  as  she  reached 
the  end  of  the  list  without  seeing  a  familiar  name; 
but  below  was  a  P.  S.: 

"  I  have  just  learned  that  Col.  St.  Clair  of  the 
Confederate  army  has  been  brought  into  our  lines 
dangerously  wounded." 

The  paper  dropped  upon  the  floor  beside  her  as 
she  sat  silent  and  motionless  among  the  falling 
shadows,  until  a  timid  rap  on  the  door  startled 
her.     In  a  moment  Ellen  entered,  and  without  a 


A    DAY    IN    THE    HOSPITAL.  251 

word  threw  herself  at  Anna's  feet,  and,  hiding  her 
face  in  her  companion's  dress,  wept  aloud.  An 
arm  stole  softly  about  ber  neck  and  a  hand 
smoothed  caressingly  the  dark  braids  of  her  hair. 

"  Don't,  O  don't,  dear  Ellen,"  she  said;  "  let  us 
talk  together.  I  have  been  a  full  half-hour  coming 
to  a  conclusion  regarding  my  duty  in  this  terrible 
crisis.  Listen,  now,  while  I  tell  you  my  determina- 
tion." These  words  of  love  were  so  gentle  and 
kind,  and  her  voice  so  full  of  sympathy,  that  Ellen 
soon  found  herself  soothed  and  comforted  under 
their  tender  influences. 

"  Yes,  Anna,  do  tell  me,  for  I  was  never  at  such 
a  loss  regarding  my  own  duty  as  now,  and  per- 
haps your  decision  may  aid  me." 

"  Perhaps  it  will.  Well,  it  is  this  :  I  am  going 
to  him.  He  will  need  tender  care,  and  I  will  be- 
stow it.  You,  dear  girl,  must  take  my  place  here  ; 
will  3^ou  ?" 

"  Yes,  Anna,  but—" 

"No  matter;  you  know  I  was  to  give  you  my 
matured  decision,  so  do  not  imagine  that  it  is  pos- 
sible for  me  to  waver." 

"  Your  mother,  Anna  ;  what  will  she  say  ?" 

"  She  will  not  hinder  me.  But  I  shall  expect 
you  to  be  a  daughter  to  her  as  well  as  to  your  own 
parents.  All  will  need  you  to  cheer  them  during 
my  absence.  I  shall  place  them  in  your  care  with 
the  full  faith  that  all  will  be  well." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,  Anna.  I  came  here 
faint  and  trembling  at  the  very  thought  of  his  suf- 
ferings, to  find  you  all  ready  to  go  to  his  relief, 
willing  to  sacrifice  home  for  only  a  friend,  while  I, 
his  sister,  had  not  supposed  such  a  thing  possi- 
ble." 


252  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Only  a  friend."  Was  this  trne  ?  Could  sym- 
pathy alone  have  compelled  such  a  sacrifice  ? 
]\Iemories  of  other  daj^s  came  stealing  in  upon  her 
senses  like  sweet  odors  from  a  far-off  land,  but  she 
thrust  them  aside,  and  kissing  the  upturned  face 
before  her,  said,   smilingly  : 

"  Never  mind,  dear  ;  perlxips  you  will  know  me 
better  some  da3\  You  are,  however,  mistaken  in 
thinking  me  all  ready,  for  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
wait  until  Monda}^  to  finish  my  preparations.  I 
shall  gather  a  few  luxuries  with  many  little  things 
that  I  feel  I  shall  require  ;  so  let  us  go  to  work 
and  banish  present  sorrow  with  busy  hands." 

True  to  her  purpose,  in  three  daj'S  Anna 
emerged  from  her  baptism  of  benedictions  and 
farewells,  and,  laden  with  endearing  messages  and 
tokens  of  love  for  the  suffering  one,  stepped  on 
board  the  "  Vanderbilt,"  that  was  to  bear  her  for- 
ward on  her  chosen  errand  of  merc3\  Numerous 
and  varied  w^ere  the  emotions  that  took  possession 
of  her  heart  as,  when  alone  seated  on  the  deck  of 
the  noble  steamer,  she  found  time  at  last  for  calm 
reflection.  Would  she  find  him  alive  ?  And 
would  he  be  glad  to  see  her  ?  Then  came  steal- 
ing into  her  thoughts  the  unwelcome  fact,  like  the 
the  whisperings  of  the  serpent  in  the  garden  o± 
flowers:  "  He  is  a  rebel  !"  The  suggestions  ran  on  ; 
"  will  it  be  possible  to  minister  to  the  necessities 
of  one  like  him  without  incurring  censure  ?  A 
rebel P'  Tears  came  to  her  eyes.  She  had  taken 
no  time  for  weeping  since  the  sad  news  reach«^d 
her,  but  now  she  gave  free  vent  to  them  altho.i^h 
knowing  that  curious  e^^es  were  upon  her. 
sorrow  was  no  uncommon  spectacle  in  those  d-.ys 
of  bereavement  and  heart-breakings^     Then  came 


"  vSlIE    PLACED    THE    CUT    To    HIS    LIl'S." 


A   DAY   IN   THE   HOSPITAL.  253 

a  thought  as  softly  as  steals  the  soft  sunbeam  that 
dries  up  the  summer  rain  :  "  My  brothers  are  safe; 
his  hand  is  powerless  now  to  do  them  harm.  Who 
knows  but  he  will  cease  to  contend  for  a  cause  he 
has  not  loved ;  to  struggle  for  a  victory  his  heart 
never  desired." 

One  who  had  not  looked  on  the  scenes  in  a  hos- 
pital after  a  battle,  has  no  idea  of  the  soul-depress- 
ing sights  that  everywhere  present  themselves. 
So  thought  Anna  who,  after  two  days  of  restless- 
ness and  anxiety  in  Washington,  at  last  obtained 
permission  to  go  to  Alexandria  where  she  was 
most  needed.  While  standing  among  the  dead  and 
dying,  what  wonder  that  her  cheeks  paled  and  her 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears  of  pity  ?  It  was  where 
new  accessions  were  almost  continually  being  made 
of  such  as  had  not  previously  been  able  to  be 
moved  from  the  field-tents  and  private  houses 
where  they  had  been  carried.  The  poor  sufferers 
were  brought  in  upon  stretchers  or  blankets  and 
laid  on  the  floor,  waiting  for  their  wounds  to  be 
examined,  or  the  stumps  of  amputated  limbs  to  be 
redressed,  and  weather-beaten  bodies  to  be  made 
more  comfortable  generally ;  before  being  taken 
to  the  next  ward,  where  nice  clean  beds  were 
waiting  them.  Just  before  her  a  young  man  with 
dark  brown  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes  was  lying  on 
a  mattress  where  two  men  had  placed  him.  One 
leg  was  gone,  and  a  blood-stained  bandage  was 
about  his  forehead.  How  pale  and  wan  he  looked ! 
His  gaze  was  upon  her,  and  his  lips  moved.  In  a 
-moment  she  was  beside  him.  "  Water,"  was  all 
she  could  make  out.  Here  was  work  ;  why  should 
she  be  looking  for  any  other  ?  She  placed  the  cup 
to  his  lips   and   raised  his  head  tenderly  while   he 


25-4:  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

drank.  A  cup  of  cold  water  !  How  sweet  were 
the  blessings  that  came  in  upon  her  soul  as  she 
gave  it  to  him  !  "  Thank  3'ou,"  and  a  feeble  smile 
came  to  his  lips. 

"  Will  you  take  this  basin  and  wash  some  of 
their  hands  and  faces  ?"  asked  a  cheery  voice  near 
her.  "  I  will  get  another.  Poor  fellows  ;  the}- 
sadl}^  need  soap  end  water  before  clean  clothing 
can  be  put  on  them." 

It  was  a  kind,  S3-nipathizing  face  into  which  she 
looked  while  listening  to  the  recjuest,  and  although 
she  hesitated  to  commence  so  strange  a  task,  it  was 
but  for  a  moment.  There  was  a  world  of  thank- 
fulness in  the  blue  eyes  that  looked  into  hers  as  she 
took  away  the  blood-stained  bandage  and  smoothed 
back  the  dark  locks  from  the  brow  while  she 
bathed  and  cooled  it  with  a  soft,  gentle  hand. 

"  You  are  so  kind,''  he  murmured  at  last  ;  "God 
bless  3'ou." 

"  He  does,"  was  the  quiet  answer,  and  the  mild 
e3'es  closed,  but  not  to  sleep. 

"'Do  3'ou  suffer  much  ?"  she  asked  as  she  laid 
the  hand  she  had  been  washing  back  on  the  heav- 
ing breast. 

"  Not  much  ;  3^et  I  shall  not  live'.  My  mother, 
O  my  mother!"  A  tear  escaped  from  beneath  the 
closed  lids  and  dropped  down  upon  the  hard  pillow„ 
Anna  saw  it  as  she  turned  to  leave  and  stopped  to 
wipe  it  awa3'.  "  I  will  see  you  again,"  she  whis- 
pered and  then  passed  on. 

A  burly  son  of  Erin  was  lying  near  with  an  arm 
missing  and  a   foot    thickly  bandaged.     With  an  ■ 
encouraging    smile    from    the    nurse  who  ^vas  en- 
gaged in   administering  to   one  who  might  have 
been  his  brother,  Anna  bared  her  arms  to  the  work. 


A    DAY    IN    THE    HOSPITAL.  255 

"  Shall  I  try  to  improve  your  appearance  a  lit- 
tle?" she  asked,  at  the  same  time  kneeling  beside 
him. 

"  Holy  Vargin  bless  ye,  Miss,"  he  ejaculated. 
''  It's  not  the  likes  of  ye's  who  should  be  doin'  it; 
but  the  Son  of  Mary  will  bless  ye.  Miss.  Look 
yonder,"  he  continued,  "  d'ye  see  that  gTa3'back 
in  the  corner  there  ?  He's  a  reb ;  ye's  wont  wash 
his  face,  sure?" 

"  Certainly  we  will,"  replied  Anna,  who  could 
nor  help  smiling  at  the  eagerness  of  her  ques- 
tioner. "  The  Bible  tells  us  to  '  do  good  to  them 
that  despitefully  use  us.'  I  have  no  doubt  his  face 
needs  washing  as  much  as  your's,  and  should  I  not 
do  it  ?" 

"  Faith  and  I'd  put  lots  of  soap  in  his  eyes,  and 
wash  up  instead  of  down,  if  I  did  it  at  all,  at  all." 

The  girl  sighed  as  she  tugged  away  at 'the  worn 
out  boot  that  seemed  unwilling  to  yield  to  her  pow- 
ers, but  it  came  off  at  last,  and  with  elevated  nos- 
trils she  continued  her  labor  of  mercy.  While 
thus  engaged  she  looked  occasionally  towards  the 
rebel  coat  in  the  corner  ;  but  it  was  not  he  for 
whom  she  had  been  anxiously  searching,  yet  her 
heart  did  not  fail  to  upbraid  her  for  an  apparent 
neglect.  She  had  inquired  as  often  as  she  thought 
judicious,  but  had  learned  nothing.  "Perhaps  he 
will  soon  be  brought  in,"  she  thought,  and  her 
eyes  turned  searchingly  upon  every  new  comer. 
Close  by  was  one  who  had  just  finished  his  mortal 
sufferings,  and  beyond  another  so  still  that  one 
might  have  thought  him  dead  ;  but  as  Anna  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  forehead  he  opened  his  e37es 
and  looked  at  her. 


256  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

The  surgeons  were  busy  with  their  work,  and 
all  day  her  hands  were  never  idle.  Three  times 
had  she  received  the  last  words  of  love  from  pallid 
lips  for  loved  ones  far  away,  and  each  time  had 
promised  to  send  their  precious  remembrances  or 
tokens  of  undying  affection  from  the  lost  whom 
they  never  in  life  would  look  upon  again ;  and  no 
wonder  that  at  last  she  should  return  to  her  lodg- 
ings weary  and  sick  at  heart  ! 

"  I  fear  I  have  kept  3'ou  waiting,''  she  said  as 
she  passed  her  landlad}-  in  the  hall ;  "  but  I  have 
been  very  bus3^" 

"'  I  understand  it;  how  worn-out  you  must  be! 
Katy  is  in  the  kitchen  keeping  a  cup  of  tea  for 
you,"  and  with  a  thankful  heart  Anna  proceeded 
thither  followed  by  the  lady. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,"  she  continued, 
"  but  a  soldier  has  been  almost  thrust  upon  me 
to-day,  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  change  3'our 
room.  I  was  sure  3^ou  would  forgive  me  after  you 
knew  all.  He  is  an  officer  whom  the  general  did 
not  like  to  take  to  the  hospital,  as  it  would  not  be 
very  pleasant  for  him,  being  a  prisoner  from  the 
Confederate  army." 

"A  Confederate  ?"  queried  Anna,  with  some  agi- 
tation.     "  Do  3'ou  know  his  name?" 

"Colonel  St.  Clair.  Wh\',  my  dear  girl,  how 
•strangely  you  look!     Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?" 

"  He  is.     Is  he  severely  wounded  ?" 

"  Badly,  I  believe,  yet  I  do  not  know  how. 
Would  you  like  to  see  him  to  night  ?" 

"  No,  unless  he  needs   my  services." 

"I  think  he  was  sleeping  when  I  came  down. 
The  surgeon  was  here  an  hour  ago,  and  his  negro 
servant  is  with  him  now." 


A    DAY    IN    THE    HOSPITAL.  257 

"  Then  I  will  not  disturb  him.  In  the  morning 
I  will  go." 

Anna  Pierson  forgot  her  weariness  as  she  seated 
herself  with  her  writing  desk  to  finish  up  her 
day's  toils  by  penning  the  promised  letters  of 
sympathy  and  condolence  to  the  friends  of  those 
who  had  that  day  entered  the  silent  land  where 
there  would  be  no  more  war';  and  when  all  was 
finished  thoughts  of  home,  and  loved  ones  waiting 
there,  came  and  she  wrote  on,  closing  with  the 
promise  to  finish  on  the  morrow^  after  she  had  seen 
him  whom  she  came  to  seek.     And  then  she  slept. 

Before  the  night  had  gathered  up  all  its  dark 
shadows  there  came  a  low  rap  on  her  door  which 
aroused  her,  and,  springing  from  her  bed,  won- 
dered how  she  could  have  slept  so  long.  Mrs. 
Howard  entered. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  awake  you  so  soon,"  she  said, 
"  but  he  seems  so  anxious  to  have  you  come  to 
him,  that  I  could  not  well  wait  longer.  I  told 
him  there  was  a  lady  here  to  see  him,  but  would 
not  tell  him  your  name.  He  appears  a  little 
brighter  this  morning,  and  says  he  rested  pretty 
well,"  she  continued.  "  Shall  I  tell  him  you  are 
coming  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  just  a  minute  ;  for  you  know  it  does 
not  take  us  Yankee  girls  long  to  dress,"  she  re- 
sponded, assuming  a  playfulness  she  did  not  at  all 
feel.  True  to  her  word,  however,  in  a  marvelously 
short  time  she  opened  the  door  of  the  sick  man's 
chamber  softly  and  closed  h  again  as  noiselessly 
behind  her.  His  face  was  turned  towards  the 
wall,  and  he  did  not  move  until  she  stood  beside 
him.  Softly  laying  h.er  hand  on  his  she  whisper- 
ed his  name,  "  George  St.  Clair."     A  sudden  flush 


258 


THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 


of  jo}^  overspread  his  face  as  his  fin^^ers  closed 
tightly  over  hers,  while  the  response,  "Anna,  my 
good  angel,  how  came  you  here?"  burst  from  his 
lips.  "  How  glad  I  am  that  I  have  not  on  that 
hated  uniform.  You  will  not  despise  me  now  ? 
But  tell  me  first  how  came  3^ou  here  ?" 

"Just  as  au}^  one  would  who  had  not  wings  to 
fly  ;  but  my  mission  is  to  take  care  of  you  until 
you  get  well." 

"  I  am  unworthy.  But  talk  to  me  of  loved  ones, 
of  yourself,  of  everything." 

A  pleasant  hour  followed,  and  both  were  hap- 
pier than  they  had  been  for  many  a  day.  Clouds 
were  rising  that  were  to  cover  the  calm  blue  of 
the  clear  sky  above  them,  but  the}-  saw  them  not. 

How  kind  in  the  Father  to  deal  out  his  chasten- 
iugs  as  he  does  his  blessings,  one  by  one,  else  the 
poor  heart  could  not  bear  them  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  DARK,  DARK  WAVE- 

"Anna."  It  was  a  faint,  tremulons  voice  that 
called  through  the  half-open  door  of  the  wounded 
man's  chamber,  as  the  young  girl  was  passing  ; 
but  it  was  suf&ciently  clear  to  arrest  her  progress, 
and  she  stood  still  for  a  moment,  listening  and 
wondering  that  she  should  be  called  at  such  a  time. 
The  surgeon  was  in  attendance,  as  was  his  custom, 
although  the  hour  was  an  early  one,  he  being,  as 
St.  Clair  had  told  her,  an  old  friend  and  traveling 
companion  in  Europe  a  few  years  before,  which 
accounted  without  doubt  for  his  unusual  attention 
at  such  a  busy  time.  Anna  had  not  met  him  dur- 
ing the  few  da^^s  she  had  been  in  the  house  as  her 
services  had  not  been  required  during  his  visits, 
wherefore  her  surprise  at  now  hearing  her  name. 
While  thinking  the  matter  over  the  call  was  re- 
peated, and  without  farther  hesitation  she  hastened 
to  him.  The  wounded  man  was  lying  on  his  side, 
partly  supported  by  his  servant,  whose  tears  of 
sympathy  were  rapidly  flowing.  The  surgeon  was 
bending  over  the  prostrate  form  with  face  un- 
moved, probing  and  dressing  the  fearful  wound. 
In  a  moment  Anna  was  kneeling  by  the  drooping 
head  which  hung  faintly  down  on  the  side  of  the 
bed,  and,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  feeling,  raised 
it  tenderly  to  her  shoulder  and  pressed  her  lips  on 
his  cold,  damp  forehead. 

259 


260  THE    MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

"  Poor  George,''  she  whispered,  as  she  smoothed 
back  his  dark  hair,  "  it  is  very  hard.  How  sorry  I 
am  for  you." 

"  I  can  bear  it  all  now,  and  more  if  need  be," 
and  the  strained  eyes  which  looked  up  into  the 
pale  anxious  face  bore  testimon}^  to  his  words. 

"It  is  hard  to  suffer  with  no  loving  hand  to 
wipe  the  drops  of  agou}^  from  the  brow,  but  en- 
durable when  fond  lips  kiss  them  away.  Dear 
girl  !"  he  added,  in  a  whisper,  just  as  the  surgeon 
finished  his  work,  bidding  the  servant  to  lay  him 
down  gently  upon  the  pillow.  When  this  was 
done  he  turned,  and  apparently  for  the  first  time 
discovered   that   another  had  joined  their  number. 

"  There,  my  good  fellow,  he  remarked,  cheer- 
fully, "  I  hope  3^ou  will  not  be  obliged  to  go 
through  that  operation  again.  It  is  healing  nicel}^, 
and  if  we  can  keep  the  inflammation  down  and  the 
wound  open  under  the  shoulder-blade  for  a  few 
days,  the  best  results  may  be  hoped  for.  The 
trouble  is,  St.  Clair,  you  have  too  many  chick- 
en-hearted ones  to  care  for  you.  Your  servant  must 
be  more  thorough."  While  making  this  remark 
his  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the  face  of  Anna. 

''  Miss  Pierson,  doctor,"  said  St.  Clair,  with  an 
attempt  to  a  formal  introduction,  "  and  let  me  tell 
you,  she  w^ould  never  be  worthy  of  the  slur  you 
have  just  cast.  Should  you  tell  her  to  perform 
your  most  disagreeable  commands,  I  feel  positive 
they  would  be  carried  out  to  the  very  letter." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  try  me,"  said  Anna. 

"Can  I  trust  you?" 

"  I  came  for  that  very  purpose." 

"  Then  listen."  Whereupon  followed  a  long 
list  of  commands  and  injunctions. 


THE  DARK,  DARK  WAVE.         261 

"  You  will  perceive  he  has  also  a  fever,  which 
must  be  kept  in  subjection,  not  only  by  strictly  ad- 
ministering the  medicines  but  b}^  shielding  him 
from  every  excitement.  I  may  not  be  here  again 
for  two  or  three  days,  but  shall  feel  comparatively 
easy  now  that  I  can  leave  him  in  your  hands." 

"  I  shall  endeavor  to  do  ni}^  duty,  as  far  as  I  am 
able,  sir." 

"  I  believe  you  ;  good  morning." 

And,  taking  the  hand  of  each,  the  busy  doctor 
left  the  room. 

]\lrs.  Howard  met  him  in  the  hall  below  to  in- 
quire about  the  patient. 

"Did  I  understand  that  young  lady's  name  was 
Pierson  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  was  about  to  depart. 

"Yes." 

"  Has  she  any  friends  in  the  army  ?" 

"  She  has  two  brothers,  she  told  me." 

"  Then  one  of  them  was  buried  yesterda3\  I 
was  sure  of  it  as  soon  as  I  looked  into  her  face. 
They  were  ver}'  much  alike.  Poor  fellow !  I 
found  him  near  the  rebel  colonel  up  stairs,  and 
the  long  exposure  hastened  his  death." 

Again  the  surgeon  bowed  and  hurried  away. 

The  kind-hearted  old  lady  stood  for  a  moment 
stupefied  with  pity  and  perplexit3\ 

"  It  was  too  bad  he  did  not  tell  her,"  she  thought 
as  she  looked  after  him.  Her  mind  wandered  off 
to  the  widow  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  of  whom 
Anna  had  spoken.  She,  too,  was  a  widow,  and  had 
a  son  in  the  Confederate  army.  It  was  hard  for 
her  that  he  was  there,  but  how  heart-rending  if  he 
should  die  far  away  and  be  buried  in  an  unknown 
grave !  Could  she  break  the  sad  intelligence  to 
the  bereaved  girl  ?  The  colonel  needed  her.  Should 


2i)2  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

she  advise  her  to  do  what  lier  sjmipathizing  heart 
prompted  ?  She  pondered  it  over  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then  her  decision  was  taken.  She  hast- 
ened up  the  stairway  and  rapped  gentl}^  at  the 
door.      It  was  opened  immediate!}'  b}'  Anna. 

"  I  woukl  like  to  sec  3'ou  for  a  short  time,''  she 
said,  as  the  happ}-  face  beamed  upon  her. 

''  I  will  come  soon,''  and  turning  to  the  bed  she 
remarked  :  "  You  must  sleep  now  after  such  an 
expenditure  of  nerve  power  ;"  and  arranging  the 
pillows  that  the  head  might  more  readil}'  rest  she 
placed  her  hand  on  the  smooth  white  forehead  as 
she  pressed  her  lips  to  his. 

"  I  can  sleep  sweetly  now,  good  angel,  since  the 
old  scorn  has  been  taken  out  of  my  memory  !"  and 
he  settled  quietl}'  down. 

"Scorn!  One  like  poor  me  bestowing  such  a 
commodity  on  one  like  3'ou?"  and  laughing  she 
turned  to  leave. 

"  It  ma}^  be  that  attribute  is  not  in  your  nature, 
but—" 

"Yes — the  uniform,"  suggested  Anna.  "Well, 
3'OU  are  never  to  pla}^  the  'wolf  again,  3'OU 
know  ?" 

''Never,  no  never!''  With  a  jo3^ous  step  she 
tripped  from  the  room  to  join  ]\Irs.  Howard  below 
stairs. 

"I  have  some  sad  news  for  you — perhaps  I 
ought  not  at  such  a  time  as  this  trouble  you,  but 
my  conscience  would  upbraid  me  should  I  keep  it 
to  myself;  besides,  3'ou  must  know  it  sometime." 

"  O,  do  tell  me  !"  interrupted  Anna  impatiently. 

"  I  will !  You  have  told  me  of  your  brothers 
and  that  you  had  found  on  inquir3'   that  both  were 


THE  DARK,  DARK  WAVE.         263 

uninjured.  Nothing  is  easier  than  such  mistakes 
in  these  times." 

"  Mistake  ?  Was  I  mistaken  ?  Are  they  not 
safe  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  only  about  one.  He  was  found 
on  the  battle  field  not  far  from  the  colonel  up- 
stairs. Both  had  been  exposed  so  long  to  the 
rains  that  3^our  brother  could  not  rally  and  he 
died  and  was  buried  yesterday!" 

"  Died?  Are  you  sure  he  died  ?  It  caiinoih^  ! 
Where  was  he?"  Anna  did  not  weep;  such  a 
flood  of  thought  and  feeling  rushed  in  upon  her 
brain  that  it  forced  back  the  tears.  More  than  a 
week  had  she  been  in  Washington  and  Alexandria 
while  he  had  been  suffering  and  dying !  O,  why 
could  she  not  have  found  him — listened  to  his 
last  words  and  received  his  last  blessing  ?  Ah — 
this  was  a  cold  wave  that  was  dashing  over  her 
soul ;  but  there  was  one  to  come  more  chilling, 
more  furious  and  overwhelming  even  than  this  ! 
"They  were  together!"  Could  it  be  that  those 
hands  that  had  so  lately  clasped  hers  as  she  lis^ 
tened  to  words  of  love  were  stained  with  her 
brother's  blood  ?  They  were  opponents  and  found 
near  to  each  other  when  the  conflict  was  over ! 
Enemies!  O  how  these  thoughts  maddened  her ! 
They  seemed  to  tear  her  very  soul!  She  remained 
motionless  and  silent  so  long  that  Mrs.  Howard 
ventured  to  say  : 

"  It  may  be  you  would  like  to  find  out  where 
he  died  and  where  they  have  buried  him  ?  You 
can,  perhaps,  procnre  his  body  and  take  it  home 
for  interment.  This  would  be  a  great  consolation 
to  his  poor  mother  I  am  sure ;  I  know  it  would  be 
to  me !" 


2(34  thp:  mistress  of  roskdale. 

Those  words,  "home"  and  "mother,''  opened 
the  secret  avenue  to  her  soul,  and  tears  came 
plentifully  to  her  relief.  "  O,  yes  !"  she  sobbed, 
after  a  moment's  pause;  "I  will  go  immediatel}' ! 
I  have  much  to  do  and  must  not  waste  ni}-  time  in 
weeping;  but  it  is  so  horrible!  How  will  my 
mother  endure  it  ?"  Again  the  tears  came,  but 
with  repeated  efforts  she  drove  them  back  and 
arose  to  leave  the  room.  "  I  will  leave  my  patient 
with  3^ou,"  she  stopped  to  say.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
you  can  do  all  that  is  required  ;  at  any  rate  I  must 
go !  Do  ever^'thing  for  him  in  your  power  and  be 
sure  3'ou  will  be  ampl}/  rewarded.  When  he  in- 
quires for  me  tell  him  the  sad  story ;  will  \'OU? 
I  go  to  bury  ni}^  brother  by  the  side  of  his  father, 
and  where  loving  hands  can  care  for  and  protect 
his  grave  !      He  can  not  rest  here  !'' 

Her  companion  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Her 
form  was  erect  and  firm  ;  her  e3^es  sparkled  with 
the  fire  of  heroism  !  In  half  an  hour  Anna  came 
from  her  chamber  prepared  for  a  walk.  She  told 
her  friend  that  she  was  going  first  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  then  to  the  hospital  to  learn  what  she 
could  for  her  mother's  sake  !  "  Ellen  must  come  to 
take  my  place  by  her  brother's  side,"  she  conclu- 
ded. "  But  must  I  see  him  no  more  ?  It  is  hard  ! 
But  the  stained  Jiaiid!  Wy  brother's  blood  !"  How 
much  agony  can  be  crowded  into  a  phantom 
thought !  Poor  Anna  !  Then  whispered  her 
heart :  "  He  may  die !  To  agitate  him  might 
bring  very  serious  consequences;"  she  had  drawn 
this  from  the  words  of  the  surgeon.  "  Ellen  must 
soothe  and  comfort  him  ;"  and  she  hastened  on  her 
errand  of  love.  In  a  few  hours  she  had  done  all 
she    could,  and  was  seated  in  her  room,  weary  and 


THE    DARK,    DARK    WAVE.  2(35 

heart-sore,  to  think  over  the  incidents  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

How  fnll  the  moments  had  been  crowded  !  In 
her  hand  she  was  holding  the  locket  that  was  his, 
in  which  was  her  own  and  her  mother's  pictnres  the 
kind  nurse  had  promised  to  send  to  them.  How 
precious  it  would  alwaj's  be  to  her !  His  last  look 
of  earth  was  on  their  faces;  his  last  words  were 
blessings  implored  for  them.  She  had  learned  it 
all  from  the  kind  one  who  had  bent  over  him  at 
that  moment  when  his  noble  spirit  winged  its  way 
from  the  poor  mangled  body  towards  the  land  of 
peace  and  rest.  "  How  kind  in  her  to  be  so  ex- 
plicit !  How  soothing  were  the  tears  of  sympathy 
that  fell  from  a  stranger's  ej^es !"  Then  her 
thoughts  returned  to  the  living,  fiow  was  he  ? 
Had  he  wished  for  her?  Was  he  very  unhappy 
without  her?  Could  she  ever  meet  him  again  ? 
What  should  she  do  ?  What  was  her  duty  ?  O 
the  buffetings  of  a  tempest-tossed  soul ! 

Poor  Anna ;  there  was  an  undefined  longing  in 
\ev  heart  she  did  not  then  understand,  and  so  was 
ieft  to  grieve  as  one  who  had  no  hope !  It  was  a 
fearful  struggle  between  heart  and  judgment  as 
she  supposed,  and  zc/w  should  settle  it  at  last?  An 
answer  to  the  morning's  telegram  was  brought  in  ; 
"  Kllen  will  be  here  in  three  da3^s,"  she  concluded 
after  reading  it,  "  and  then  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
return  home  with  my  dead!"  Home  !  There  was  a 
sacredness  in  that  word  now — a  sad  solemnity 
that  oppressed  the  heart  as  she  remembered  the 
sombre  emblems  of  bereavement  that  were  darken- 
ing it !  There  had  been  only  the  shadows  of 
separations  in  the  loving  circle  for  many  years, 
and  even  these  had  been  lighted  up  with  the  bright 


:SCCi  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

gildings  of  hopeful  reunion  !  How  would  that 
mother  bear  the  first  great  blow  dealt  by  the 
crimson  hand  of  war  ?  Where  was  Elmore  ?  They 
had  told  her  that  he  was  probably  safe  and  had 
been  hurried  away  with  his  regiment,  but  might 
be  wounded  or  a  prisoner. 

"  How  he  will  miss  the  absent  one  !"  she 
thought.  The  mother,  it  was  true,  had  laid  her 
Jwo  sons  upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  but  never  had 
jailed  morning  or  evening  to  plead  that  the  fire 
might  not  fall  and  consume  them.  One  had  been 
taken  ;  and  the  shadow  from  the  dark-winged  angel 
would  settle  heavily  down  upon  the  widow's  peace- 
ful, quiet  home !  Tears  fell  fast.  She  was  so 
happy  a  few  hours  ago,  now  how  dark  life  seemed 
to  her.  How  fickle  are  our  joys  and  what  a  little 
breath  will  sometimes  blow  them  out !  Strange 
that  clouds  should  follow  so  closely  in  the  wake  of 
the  summer's  sun  !  Lights  and  shadows  ;  calms 
and  storms  ;  hopes  and  despairs  make  up  the  indi- 
vidual lives. 

Troubled  child  !  V^^hy  did  she  not  in  her  per- 
plexity turn  her  face  towards  the  source  of  all 
wisdom  and  grace?  Why  do  not  you,  gentle 
reader  ?  Her  eyes  were  steadfastly  fixed  on  the 
ground  where  the  shadows  alwaj'S  lie  the  thickest, 
rather  than  with  the  penetrating  vision  of  faith  en- 
deavoring to  pierce  the  sombre  clouds  above  her 
head.  The  sound  of  footsteps  along  the  hall 
aroused  her.  "  Some  one  is  going  to  /i/s  room.  His 
room  !"  And  the  shadows  clustered  more  closely 
about  her  heart !  It  was  so  sad  that  the  great 
phantom  which  had  appeared  the  first  time  when 
George   St.   Clair  stood  before  her  in  the  uniform 


THE  DARK,  DARK  WAVE.         267 

of  the  confederate  army  should  come  to  her  now 
with  such  an  air  of  certainty  ! 

"  They  were  found  together!"  She  had  dreamed 
of  this  ;  she  had  started  from  her  sleep  at  seeing 
that  hand  which  pressed  her  cheek  while  he  read 
the  secrets  of  her  fluttering  heart,  stained  with  the 
blood  of  his  victim,  and  that  victim  her  idolized 
brother  !  It  had  come  at  last,  and  O,  how  terrible 
the  realization  !  Rising  hastily  she  replaced  her 
bonnet  and  hurried  from  the  room.  On  the  stairs 
she  met  Mrs.  Howard. 

"  Colonel  St.  Clair  is  very  anxious  you  should 
come  to  him,"  she  said  ;  "  and  seems  distressed 
that  you  do  not.  He  told  me  to  bear  to  you  his 
deepest  sympathy,  and  I  saw  a  tear  in  his  eye  as 
he  told  me.  Will  you  not  go  to  him  today,  Miss 
Pierson  ?  I  think  his  fever  is  a  little  higher  this 
afternoon.  Do  not  refuse,  for  I  fear  it  will  do  him 
harm." 

A  sudden  faintness  came  over  her  as  she  lis- 
tened to  these  pleadings,  and  she  trembled  so  vio- 
lently that  she  was  obliged  to  seat  herself  for  a 
moment.  At  last  with  great  effort  she  said : 
''  Take  to  him  my  thanks  for  the  sympathy  he 
sent  me,  and  if  I  can  by  any  means  bind  up  the 
main  artery  of  my  heart  that  I  feel  has  been 
severed  I  will  see  him  again  ;"  and  without 
another  word  she  arose  and  hastened  from  the 
house. 

"Is  the  child  crazy?"  muttered  Mrs.  Howard  as 
she  proceeded  up  the  stairway.  "  She  has  changed 
fearfully  during  the-' last  few  hours,  that  is  cer- 
tain !"  And  this  she  told  the  wounded  man  when 
he  anxiously  inquired  for  her  a  few  minutes  after. 


2(38  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

A  groan  escaped  him,  but  he  only  added,  "  Poor 
Anna  !  The  scourge  !  O  the  terrible  scourge  of 
war!" 

All  the  afternoon  the  sad  mourner  flitted  rest 
lessly  about  among  the  suffering  and  dying, 
speaking  a  gentle  word  to  one,  or  administering  a 
soothing  draught  to  another — ever  active,  carrying 
consolation  and  comfort  wherever  she  went.  At 
last  she  missed  the  one  in  whom*  she  had  pre- 
viously taken  such  a  great  interest — the  young 
soldier  with  dark-brown  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes. 
"  Where  is  he?"  she  asked. 

"  He  died  last  night,"  answered  the  kind  ola 
nurse. 

"  Died  ?"  interrogated  Anna,  "  I  thought  he  was 
getting  well." 

"  We  thought  he  was,  but  God  knew  best  !"  and 
the  kindly  lips  quivered  that  were  so  used  to 
words  of  consolation. 

"More  sad  hearts!"  mused  Anna  as  she  became 
attracted  by  another  scene  not  far  away  from  where 
they  were  standing.  A  mother  had  just  arrived 
and  now  sat  b}^  the  bed  of  her  dying  son,  who  for 
the  first  time,  it  ma}^  be,  failed  to  recognize  the 
soft  touch  of  that  gentle  hand,  or  respond  to  the 
familiar  tones  of  a  mother's  loving  voice.  Too 
late!  He  would  never  look  upon  her  again  !  The 
tempest-tossed  soul  forgot  its  own  tribulations  as 
she  watched  the  anguish  of  the  stricken  parent 
who  sat  beside  her  boy  with  tearless  eyes,  but 
with  cheek  and  brow  as  white  as  those  she  was  so 
hopefully  gazing  upon,  pleading  for  "one  word, 
only  one  word!"  But  it  came  not.  Anna  turned 
away.  "  These  scenes  are  too  painful  for  me  to- 
day,"  she    said  to    the   sympathizing    nurse,  who 


THE    DARK,    DARK    WAVE.  2(39 

softly  touched  her  arm  to  recall  her.  "  Tell  me 
where  I  can  go  and  find  peace !" 

"I  will,  poor  child,  follow  me."  In  the  next 
ward  a  young  man  was  lyiug,  his  face  livid  from 
the  loss  of  blood,  one  limb  entirely  gone,  the  other 
partiall}^  yet  a  smile  shone  ever  upon  those  wan 
features,  and  his  kindly  greeting  and  words  of 
cheerfulness  were  like  rays  of  sunshine  to  all  who 
came  under  their  influences.  "  Mr.  Page,"  said 
the  nurse  as  she  took  his  proffered  hand,  "  here  is 
a  young  lady  who  needs  a  few  w^ords  of  resigna- 
tion and  comfort  dropped  into  her  wounded  heart, 
and  you  have  always  such  a  rich  store  on  hand 
that  I  felt  you  would  be  willing  to  administer  a 
few  to  one  who  needs  them  so  much." 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  to  give  them  second  hand 
you  know."  How  his  pale  face  lighted  as  he  said 
this,  and  extending  his  hand  to  Anna  invited  her 
to  sit  ]:3side  him.  "It  is  hard  to  be  afflicted,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  know  they  sometimes  provide  a 
very  white  robe  for  such  as  we."  Then  he  spoke 
so  calmly  and  soothingly  as  he  inquired  into  her 
griefs,  wdiile  he  poured  oil  of  peace  into  her  lacera- 
ted heart  until  the  pain  ceased  and  she  was 
soothed  and  comforted.  "What  was  your  brother's 
name  ?"  he  asked, 

"  Herbert  Pierson." 

"  Herbert  Pierson  ?  You  should  not  grieve  for 
him  !  He  had  a  noble  soul.  I  knew  him  well, 
and  when  the  surgeon  told  me  yesterday  that  he 
was  dead  I  thanked  God  for  his  release  from 
suffering.  Could  he  speak  to  you  to-day  he  would 
say  as  I  have,  'do  not  grieve  for  me!'  How  often 
I  have  heard  him  speak  of  his  sister  and  mother, 
and  pray  for  them  too.  Ah — there  is  comfort  for 
you    beyond    my    poor    powers    of    giving !     The 


270 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    RUSEDALE. 


blessed  sufferer  who  atoned  for  3^ou  and  me  will 
bestow  it !  Your  brother  was  mine  in  heart ;  how 
I  loved  him  !" 

"  O  thank   3^on  ;   thank  j^ou  !"   sobbed   Anna  as 
she  clasped   his  thin  hand  in  hers!    "His  mother 
will  bless  and  pra}-  for  3^on,"  she  continued. 
"  And  will  not  j^ou  ?" 

"  I  ?  I  do  not  pra^'  for  myself!  I  wish  to  die.'' 
"  Then  3'ou  will !  God  be  praised  !" 
"  I  will  see  you  again,"  she  said  rising,  and 
catching  one  more  glance  of  his  calm,  blue  e3'es 
she  hurried  awa3\  After  tea  she  retired  to  her 
room,  much  against  the  wishes  of  Mrs.  Howard, 
who  M-as  urgent  in  her  requests  that  Anna  should 
visit  her  patient  that  night,  but  all  to  no  avail. 
"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  "  I  will  see  him  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  I  can  not  go  to-night ;  O  no,  I  can  not !"  and 
entering  her  seclusion  she  closed  the  door,  much  to 
the  chagrin  of  the  good  lad3',  and  seated  herself  to 
collect  her  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    RECOGNITION. 

Anna  awoke  the  next  morning  with  the  half- 
dreamy  consciousness  of  some  impending  evil  or 
gloomy  foreboding  or  trial  she  was  expected  to 
meet  or  avert.  For  a  long  time  she  lay  on  her 
bed  balanced  between  a  peaceful  unconsciousness 
and  the  stern  realities  of  duty  that  were  rising 
before  her,  until  at  last  the  full  burden  of  life 
rolled  in  upon  her  miud.  Springing  from  her  bed 
she  dropped  upon  her  knees  beside  it.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  discovered  her  utter  help- 
lessness ;  her  inability  to  go  alone  !  Before  her 
were  heavy  loads  she  was  expected  to  take  up  and 
carry  along,  but  with  this  consciousness  came 
also  the  invitations  whispered  to  her  shrinking 
heart,  ''  come  unto  me  " — "  cast  thy  burden  on  the 
lyord  and  He  will  sustain  thee."  There  in  the 
solitude  of  that  early  morn  she  came  close  to  Him 
who  had  promised  strength  sufficient  in  every  time 
of  trouble  and  perplexity.  Firmer  were  her  pur- 
poses when  she  arose  from  her  knees  ;  more  willing 
was  she  to  sacrifice  all  her  dearest  hopes  at  the 
feet  of  justice,  if  such  stern  duty  was  in  store  for 
her.  As  tears  are  sometimes  the  gentle  dew  that 
falls  upon  and  refreshes  the  drooping  flowers  of 
life,  so  prayer  is  the  concentration  of  the  golden 
rays  of  light  that  color  and  beautify  the  re-anima- 

271 


272  THE    MISTRESS  OF   ROSEDALE. 

ted  petals,  sending  into  the  heart  once  filled  with 
desolation  and  despair  the  freshness  of  a  new  life, 
and  driving  out  the  dying  fumes  that  arise  from 
the  withered  flowers  where  fond  hopes  lie  buried. 
Softly  came  this  gentle  influence  into  the  soul  of 
her  who  under  the  shadows  was  kneeling  and 
praying !  Was  it  faith  or  love  that  was  soothing 
her  ?  Perhaps  neither.  The  burdened  spirit  may 
not  yet  have  drunk  from  the  golden  cup  which 
the  hand  of  mercy  had  proffered  ;  but  it  had  lis- 
tened to  the  music  of  pity's  hovering  wings  as  she 
brooded  near  while  gathering  up  the  fragrance  of 
the  heart's  petitions  to  bear  away  with  the  tears 
from  the  overflowing  soul.  Anna  felt  these  re- 
freshing influences,  yet  she  knew  not  from  whence 
they  came.  Her  face  bore  the  softening  impress 
as  she  entered  the  breakfast  room  and  inquired 
regarding  the  wounded  colonel. 

''  He  is  a  little  more  quiet  this  morning,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Howard;  "but  was  very  restless  all 
night.  I  was  up  with  him  the  greater  part  of  the 
time."  Anna  seated  herself  at  the  table  but  could 
not  eat. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  over  to  the  hospital  for  a  few 
minutes,"  she  said,  rising ;  "  tell  him  I  will  soon 
return  and  then  will  come  to  him." 

"  Why  not  go  now,  Miss  Pierson  ?  It  is  sad  to 
witness  his  misery  !  Your  absence,  I  am  sure,  is 
now  his  greatest  affliction  !'' 

"Indeed,  I  must  go  and  get  my  own  wounds 
dressed  before  I  can  attend  to  others  !"  This  last 
remark  was  made  partly  to  herself  as  she  left  the 
room,  but  enough  fell  on  the  ear  of  the  listener  to 
fill  her  with  astonishment. 


THE  RECOGNITION.  273 

"  What  could  tlie  girl  mean  ?''  she  asked  herself 
over  and  over  again,  but  received  no  satisfactory 
reply.  In  the  meantime  Anna  was  making  her 
way  to  the  hospital,  and  upon  arriving  proceeded 
immediately  to  the  ward  where  she  had,  on  the 
day  before,  talked  with  the  one  who  had  known 
and  loved  her  brother.  But  he  was  not  there. 
Even  the  cot  had  been  removed,  and  on  the  floor 
where  it  had  stood  a  large  dark  spot  was  seen. 
Sick  at  heart  and  without  one  word  of  inquiry  she 
hurried  into  the  next  room  where  the  kind  old 
nurse  could,  she  was  sure,  tell  her  all. 

"  Yes,  dear,  these  things  are  dreadful  for  us  to 
bear,"  was  the  reply  to  her  visitor's  earnest  ques- 
tionings ;  "  but  could  you  have  seen  his  face  as  his 
life  rapidly  ebbed  away  3^ou  would  have  been  satis- 
fied that  sometimes  '  it  is  Christ  to  live,  but  to  die 
is  gain.'  What  you  saw  yesterday  was  no  com- 
parison to  it;  so  holy;  so  joyous!  It  was  about 
four  this  morning  they  called  me,  but  so  rapid  was 
his  going  that  I  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
glory  that  shone  through  as  the  gate  to  the  '  city' 
opened  for  him  !" 

"  Yet  it  seems  so  hard  to  me  just  now  that  he 
must  die,"  interposed  Anna  as  she  looked  dreamily 
out  over  the  long  rows  of  cots  where  wounded 
men  were  lying.  "  Was  it  because  my  poor  heart 
reached  out  after  him  in  its  sorest  need  ?  Must  all 
be  taken  ?"  She  had  said  this  musingly,  but  the 
nurse  heard  it  and  her  face  shone  with  interest. 
"  Forgive  me,"  she  added  quickly,  perceiving  the 
look  that  was  fastened  upon  her,  "  I  was  bewildered 
for  a  moment." 

"  There  is  a  Comforter,  and  it  was  He  that  gave 
him  his  powers  of  consolation  !    You  know  he  said 


274  THE   MISTREvSS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

yesterda}^  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  bestow  only 
second  hand  what  he  had  received." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  but  tell  me  more  of  him." 

''  It  is  the  story  of  many  others,  yet  it  came  all 
unexpectedly,  as  it  has  often  done.  It  was  the 
giving  wa}^  of  the  main  arter}^  that  had  been 
severed  so  near  the  body  that  there  was  no  chance 
for  again  securing  it.  It  was  not  five  minutes 
after  he  discovered  his  position  before  he  was 
quietly  sleeping !  Such  a  death  has  no  sadness 
in  it  ni}'  dear  girl,  for  it  was  onl}-  stepping  out  of 
pain  and  suffering  into  peace  and  rejoicing!" 

"  Thank  3'ou,"  said  Anna  as  she  turned  away, 
for  kind  words  were  needed  elsewhere.  Alone  in 
her  room  again  she  gave  full  vent  to  her  feelings. 
"  I  am  ready  now,"  she  thought  as  she  bathed  her 
face  that  her  swollen  lids  might  not  grieve  him, 
and  prepared  to  fulfill  her  promise.  It  was  with 
trembling  steps,  however,  that  she  entered  the 
room  where  George  St.  Clair  was  lying.  He  was 
alone  and  apparently  asleep  as  she  approached  the 
bedside  and  looked  down  into  his  face  so  calm  in 
its  repose ;  so  gentle  in  its  outline  ;  almost  femi- 
nine it  appeared  to  her  in  its  tenderness.  Yet  she 
had  seen  it  when  it  was  not  as  it  was  now\  How 
different !  She  placed  her  hand  on  his  forehead 
that  he  might  awake  before  the  dark  thoughts 
should  come  back  to  her.  He  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  full  into  hers !  A  deep  flush  overspread 
his  face,  yet  not  a  muscle  moved  or  a  word  escaped 
his  lips.  "  George,  will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?" 
she  asked  at  last, 

"  Yes,  Anna  ;  but  why  have  you  absented  your- 
self so  long?  Have  you  desired  to  revenge  your 
brother's  blood  upon  me  ?     Upon  my   poor  head, 


THE  RECOGNITION.  275 

Anna?  Are  you  vo  cruel  ?  Tell  me  that  you  lay 
not  that  sin  at  my  door ;  or  use  the  dagger  for  my 
more  immediate  relief!  Does  this  shock  you  ? 
Am  I  the  one  who  is  the  most  cruel  after  all  ?" 

Anna  sank  down  upon  a  chair  near  by  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillow.  Both  were  silent 
for  a  long  time ;  at  length  Mrs.  Howard  entering 
aroused  her. 

"  You  must  not  disturb  my  patient,  you  know," 
she  said  with  an  attempt  at  pleasantry,  for  she 
was  happy  to  see  Anna  at  last  where  she  thought 
she  ought  to  be.  "  You  are  to  cheer  him  up,  for 
he  seems  quite  low  spirited  to-day." 

"  We  shall,  no  doubt,  do  very  well,"  replied  St. 
Clair,  impatiently  ;  and  the  kind-hearted  ladj^  after 
administering  the  medicine,  left  the  room. 

"  Anna,  will  you  move  your  chair  a  little  this 
way  that  I  ma}'  see  your  face?  I  want  to  talk 
candidly  with  you."  She  obeyed.  He  looked  at 
her  for  a  moment,  but  there  was  more  of  sorrow 
than  scrutiny  in  his  gaze.  At  last  he  said,  "  Mrs. 
Howard  tells  me  you  are  going  home." 

"  Yes,  I  must  go ;  my  mother  will  want  all  that 
is  left  of  him  whom  she  has  so  dearly  loved !  The 
staff  is  broken  upon  which  she  expected  to  lean  in 
her  declining  years.  It  is  a  hard  task,  but  I  have 
no  power  to  shrink  from  it!" 

"  Have  you  made  all  of  your  calculations  to  do 
so?" 

"  Not  wholly.  I  shall  wait  for  your  father  whom 
I  am  expecting  here  to-morrow  in  company  with 
Ellen." 

"Ellen?  Is  she  coming  ?  Then  you  will  not 
return  ?" 


27(5  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  No  !  This  was  spoken  with  a  tremulous  voice, 
and  she  knew  his  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon 
her.  ''  You  will  not  need  me,"  she  continued, 
after  a  moment's  pause  ;  ''  your  sister  Ellen  can 
do  all  it  would  have  been  in  ni}^  power  to  perform, 
and  my  mother  will  be  very  lonely  and  sad  with- 
out me." 

"  You  did  not  think  Ellen  was  so  efficient  a  few 
days  ago,  Anna.  How  changed  you  are  !  Yes, 
I  think  I  understand  you  ;  but  can  you  not  be 
mistaken  ?  Look  at  my  hands,  dear  girl,  are 
there  any  dark  stains  upon  them  ?  Think  of  my 
prostrate  form ;  is  he  the  less  guilty  who  spilled 
my  blood  because  this  life  did  not  escape  through 
the  wound  ?  Blood  for  blood,  Anna,  and  justice  is 
satisfied !  Are  3^ou  sterner  than  that  insatiate 
power  ?'' 

Tears  flooded  her  e3'es  and  she  bowed  her  head 
to  conceal  them.  Where  now  was  the  strength 
she  had  expected  would  sustain  her  through  this 
trying  ordeal  ?  O  how  weak  she  seemed  !  How 
flitting  the  sunshine  that  had  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore gilded  her  darkness ! 

"  Anna,"  said  her  companion,  "  your  heart  is 
pleading  for  me  !  It  is  not  your  better  judgment 
that  is  sitting  at  my  tribunal  at  this  moment ;  I 
know  it  all !  I  read  it  months  ago  as  you  stood 
before  me  so  cold  and  stern  when  you  first  beheld 
my  uniform,  and  it  has  followed  you  ever  since. 
You  loved  me  then  and  you  cannot  hate  me  now  ! 
Look  up,  Anna,  and  tell  me  if  my  words  are  not 
true  ?"      She  obeyed. 

"  They  are  true  !  I  did  love  you,  and  God  knows 
how  hard  it  would  be  to  tear  that  love  from  my 
heart !     But  you  will  wait ;  the  storm  has  burst  in 


THE  RECOGNITION.  277 

upon  my  soul.  When  the  fr.ry  is  past  and  the 
clouds  are  broken,  in  the  calm  you  shall  read 
what  now  is  so  bleared  and  illegible  !  George, 
you  can  never  know  the  depths  of  sadness  that  is 
permeating  my  every  hope  and  aspiration  !  If 
you  knew  the  agony  of  the  last  few  hours,  that 
has  torn  me  like  an  evil  spirit,  you  would  pity 
me!" 

"  I  do  pity  you,  Anna  ;  and  will  trouble  you  no 
longer  lest  my  words  should  prove  an  infliction 
rather  than  a  panacea,  and  I  will,  as  you  have  re- 
quested, bide  patiently  your  time."  The  young 
lady  arose  and  stood  before  him. 

"  Good-bye,  George,  make  haste  to  recover," 
she  said  without  emotion  ;  "  your  mother  pines  for 
you  and  many  hearts  will  rejoice  when  you  are 
well  again."  He  was  looking  steadily  at  her 
while  she  spoke,  and  their  eyes  met.  Her  lips 
quivered,  but  quickly  bowing  her  head  she  pressed 
a  kiss  upon  his  brow  and  darted  from  the  room. 

Early  the  next  morning  after  a  restless,  sleep- 
less night,  Anna  prepared  herself  for  another  visit 
to  the  young  lady  who  had  so  tenderly  nursed 
her  brother  during  his  days  of  suffering  and  death. 
She  did  so  long  to  look  again  into  those  deep, 
dark  eyes,  from  which  had  beamed  so  much  sym- 
pathy, and  to  ask  many  questions  which  she  had 
omitted  at  their  former  interviews.  It  was  a  damp, 
chill  morning,  for  the  sun  was  hiding  behind  dense 
leaden  clouds  and  a  thick  fog  had  settled  down 
upon  the  city.  However,  she  liked  all  this,  for 
nature  was  in  her  most  congenial  mood  with  such 
frowns  upon  her  face,  and  so  she  hurried  on.  She 
received  a  warm  greeting  from  the  beautiful  nurse, 
whom  she  noticed  was  much  paler  than  when  she 


278  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

saw  her  last,  and  \vas  at  the  moment  apparently 
nnusnall}^  agitated.  Not  far  from  her  two  ladies 
richl}^,  bnt  plainl}^  attired,  were  standing  convers- 
ing   in    low,  soothing    tones    with    a  sick  soldier. 

"  Do  3^on  know  those  ladies  ?"  she  asked  eagerl}' 
as  she  clasped  the  hand  of  her  visitor. 

"No,  althongh  I  have  canght  a  glimpse  of  their 
dresses  several  times  in  the  other  wards  during 
the  last  few  daj^s,"  replied  Anna,  stepping  back  a 
little  that  she  might  look  into  their  faces.  But  in 
vain.  "  I  have  heard  one  of  them  spoken  of  as  a 
very  wealthy  English  lad\'  who  was  at  the  south, 
but  was  compelled  to  come  north  on  account  of 
her  anti-war  principles  ;  but  have  thought  very 
little  about  them." 

"  I  must  see  that  face  again  !"  said  the  nurse, 
niusingl}^  "  See  how  persistently  they  keep  their 
backs  toward  me  !  They  have  been  here  an  hour 
and  seem  in  no  hurry  to  go,  3^et  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  catch  the  eye  again  of  that  one  wearing 
the  gray  i^ilk.  I  have  seen  her  before,  Miss  Pier- 
son;  I  am  sure  of  it!"  A  call  from  one  of  the 
patients  interrupted  the  conversation.  Anna 
moved  slowly  down  the  apartment  to  intercept,  and 
if  possible  to  engage  them  in  conversation,  while 
her  friend  could  have  the  privilege  she  so  ardently 
coveted.  She  was  avoided,  however,  and  the  visi- 
tors soon  passed  out  into  the  open  air, 

"  Do  tell  me  what  it  was  that  came  over  you  so 
suddenly  with  sufficient  power  to  shake  j^our  dry 
bones  so  effectualU^,  and  take  all  of  the  brass  out 
of  your  face?"  inquired  one  of  the  worthies  when 
once  again  clear  of  searching  eyes. 

"  Do  not  jest !"  entreated  her  companion.  "  ]\Iat- 
ters  are  becoming  rather  serious  to  me,  as  you  will 


THE  RECOGNITION.  270 

acknowledge  when  I  tell  you  that  the  young  nurse 
in  whom  you  seemed  so  much  interested  is  my 
own  daughter!" 

"  Your  daughter  !  I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
shook  in  your  boots  !  Do  you  suppose  that  she 
recognized  you  ?" 

"  I  feel  sure  of  it,  for  her  cheek  paled  as  she 
caught  the  glance  of  my  eye,  and  I  felt  all  the 
time  we  were  there  that  she  was  watching  me!" 

"How  do  you  suppose  she  came  here?  You 
told  me  she  was  with  an  aunt  in  New  Orleans !" 

"  So  she  was,  the  idiot !"  was  the  answering  ex- 
clamation. "  I  have  no  patience  with  her  !  She 
has  been  my  tormentor  for  years !  It  was  not 
enough  for  her  to  throw  away  all  of  my  cherished 
plans,  depriving  me  of  home  and  fortune,  but  now 
she  must  appear  to  add  the  crowning  act  to  my 
discomfiture  !" 

"Would  you  have  me  believe  all  this  of  one 
who  is  so  mild  and  gentle,  with  eyes  as  calm — " 

"  Do  net  mention  those  eyes  !  They  were  her 
father's,  and  she  is  like  him  !  Yet  he  was  good  ! 
I  do  not  think  I  should  be  where  I  am  to-day  if 
he  had  lived  !  I  have  been  tumbling  for  years — 
yes,  years  !  And  what  a  depth  I  have  fallen  !" 
The  speaker  endeavored  to  smile,  but  the  attempt 
died  upon  her  pallid  lips.  "Let  us  hasten  back 
to  the  city,"  she  continued,  seeing  her  companion 
showed  no  desire  to  speak ;  "  I  must  have  time  to 
think!" 

They  walked  on  a  short  distance  without 
another  word,  and  then  her  companion  said, 
abruptly  :  "  You  have  not  told  me  why,  in  your 
opinion,  she  is  here  ?  Was  she  always  remarka- 
ble for  tenderness  and  benevolence  ?     It  seems  to 


280  THE    RIISTRF.SS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

nie  that  the  mother-power  was  deficient  in  regard 
to  the  little  matter  of  earl}'  teaching  in  the  science 
of  patriotism  !'' 

"  Your  tones  are  anno3ang,  but  I  will  satisfy 
your  plausible  curiosit}-  in  a  measure !  It  was 
not  '  tenderness  or  benevolence  '  that  has  drawn 
her  thither,  but,  in  my  opinion,  an  old  love  affair 
gotten  up  while  in  Philadelphia  at  school  when 
yet  a  child.  She  was  supposed  to  be  an  heiress, 
of  course,  and  was  wheedled  into  accepting  the 
profters  of  und3'ing  adoration  from  a  scheming 
fortune-hunter!  It  did  not  take  me  long  to  end 
the  affair  after  I  learned  of  it,  I  can  tell  you  ;  but 
it  spoiled  her !  It  was  then  that  she  laid  the 
corner  stone  of  the  sepulcher  which  she  has  been 
rearing  over  me,  and  now,  I  suppose,  will  deliber- 
ately pull  down  about  ni}'  ears!" 

"  The  sea  does  look  a  little  squalhs  I  confess," 
replied  her  conijDaniou  sarcastically. 

"  I  own  it  does  !'' 

"  Well,  as  I  am  aboard  of  3'our  ship  it  ma}^  be 
well  for  me  to  be  looking  out  for  breakers  ahead. 
And  yet  I  cannot  understand  how  that  '  love 
affair'  of  which  3'ou  have  told  me  could  affect  her 
now!" 

"  Well,  I  do  !  Without  doubt  she  hopes  to  find 
him  ;  but  it  does  not  matter  what  are  her  ambit- 
ions she  is  here  much  against  my  wishes  and  hap- 
piness !" 

Happiness  !  Ah,  where  can  the  transgressor 
find  peace  or  rest  ?  "  Who  is  wise  shall  under- 
stand these  things  ;  prudent  and  he  shall  know 
them,  for  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  right  and  the 
just  shall  walk  in  them,  but  the  transgressors 
shall  fall  therein." 


THE  RECOGNITION.  281 

Anna  might  have  joined  in  the  confusion  and 
agitation  of  her  friend  had  she  caught  a  look  as 
she  desired  from  the  keen,  black  eyes  which  had 
so  troubled  her  in  former  da3/s.  But,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  those  penetrating  orbs  failed  to  recog- 
nize in  her  whom  they  tried  to  avoid  the  sweet 
singer  of  "  cathesdra."  The  "  nobody  "  whom  her 
cousin  persisted  in  raising  out  of  her  sphere  had 
dropped  from  her  mind.  Neither  had  Anna  ever 
met  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Belmont  during  her  stay 
in  the  home  of  the  St.  Clair's,  and  could  not,  there- 
fore, suspect  that  the  meek,  gentle  nurse  who  had 
so  won  her  heart  was  the  one  of  whom  she  had  so 
often  heard.  She  had  been  told  by  Ellen  of  her 
brother's  attachment  and  of  their  final  separation, 
and  he,  only  two  mornings  since,  had  substantiated 
her  statement  with  the  assurance  that  his  imagi- 
nary love  had  been  proved  to  himself  to  be  only  a 
fostered  brotherly  affection  for  his  pretty  cousin. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  faces  and  smiled  at 
the  parting,  little  thinking  how  much  of  mystery 
was  concealed  from  view. 

"  If  one  could  only  be  seen  in  the  light  that 
falls  upon  them  from  the  eternal  brightness  what 
a  transfiguration  it  would  work  !  There  are  es- 
trangements and  alienations,"  says  some  one, 
"  that  arise  from  ignorance  of  one  another  that  di- 
vide families  into  almost  as  distinct  and  separate 
lives  as  rooms  in  the  house  they  occupy." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

« 

THE    "  PHANTOM  "    REMOVED. 

*'  Hands  to  work  and  hearts  to  God,"  once  said 
Kmerson,  while  Tennyson  adds  :  "  In  this  windy 
world  what's  up  is  faith,  what's  down  is  heresy  !" 
Anna  was  nervous  and  restless  as  she  thought 
over  these  things,  and  all  of  the  next  night  lay 
tossing  upon  her  bed,  vainly  endeavoring  to  woo 
the  gentle  slumbers  that  would  not  come  to  her. 
It  seemed  so  sad  now  that  it  was  all  over,  and  it 
was  strange  that  George  St.  Clair  should  have 
dismissed  her  so  coldly  !  It  was  not  her  fault  that 
she  could  not  dispel  this  "  phantom  "  as  he  called 
it ;  yet  he  pitied  her !  Was  this  the  panacea  he 
strove  so  hard  to  apply  to  her  wounded  soul  ? 
True,  she  asked  him  for  it,  yet  pride  rebelled  at 
its  application !  Pity  !  The  long,  weary  hours 
were  filled  with  exciting  whispers,  and  ever  and 
anon  the  chilling  words,  "  I  will  trouble  you  no 
longer,"  fell  like  hard,  cold  pebbles  into  her  sensi- 
tive soul.  At  last  summoning  all  her  fortitude 
she  congratulated  herself  that  on  the  morrow  Mrs. 
St.  Clair  and  Ellen  would  arrive.  Then  she  could 
return  home,  where  silently  and  alone  she  would 
dig  a  grave  in  some  lonely  recess  of  her  stricken 
heart  and  bury  her  two  great  sorrows  side  by  side  ! 
To-morrow !  The  clock  struck  five  and  the  sound 
of  feet  were  heard  below.     The  night  had  passed  ! 

283 


284  THE    MISTRKSS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

She  arose  from  her  bed  and  opened  the  window. 
One  star  yet  faintly  glimmered  jnst  above  the 
eastern  horizon,  np  which  the  first  morning  beams 
were  slowl}^  creeping.  Calmly  and  peacefnlly  it 
looked  into  the  tronbled  nptnrned  face  so  full  of 
sorrow  and  flushed  with  weeping,  until  Anna 
thought  that  in  its  pensive  gaze  there  was  such 
pity  as  the  angels  might  bestow  upon  their  weary 
earth-born  sisters.  Then  her  thoughts  wandered 
away  to  those  who  would  be  wear}'  no  more ; 
whose  foot-j)rints  would  never  more  be  seen  along 
the  dusty  highway  of  life,  for  the}'  were  resting 
now,  their  journe3's  over,  their  spirits  freed  from 
their  crumbling  prison-houses !  At  rest !  The 
pale  tranquil  light  of  the  lonely  star  grew  paler 
and  more  feeble  as  she  continued  to  gaze  upon  it, 
for  a  new  day  was  approaching,  and  in  the  glory 
of  its  brightness  the  tiu}^  light  was  to  be  swallowed 
up.  Fading,  changing,  ,ever3'where  !  How  sad  a 
lesson  is  life  !  How  rugged  and  thorn}-  the  way 
through  it!  "  To  look  up  is  faith,"  repeated  Anna 
again  ;  Thou  wilt  show  me  the  path  of  life  ;  in  Thy 
presence  is  fullness  of  jo}- ;  at  Th}'  right  hand 
there  are  pleasures  forevermore !"  Hush!  It 
was  not  her  own  voice  to  which  she  was  listening, 
but  the  echoing  of  her  poor  pleading  heart  which 
had  suddenl}'  remembered  that  to  look  down  where 
all  the  dreary  shadows  were  clustered  was  "  heresy." 
The  day  was  before  her  heavily  laden  with  duties. 
Why  should  she  grope  under  the  clouds  where 
were  doubts  and  unbeliefs  ?  B}^  and  by  it  may  be 
she  too  would  rest !  A  step  along  the  hall  startled 
hen  It  was  that  of  the  black  servant  leaving  his 
master's  room.  "  How  faithful  he  has  been,"  she 
thought,  "while  I  have  only  brought  discomforts 


THE  '*  phantom"  removed.      285 

where  I  liad  so  desiied  to  bring  relief.  It  was  over 
now  ;  her  dream  of  hope,  of  love,  of  life!  All  was 
over ;  yet  her  hand  still  clasped  the  "  golden 
bowl,"  and  the  "  silver  cord  "  was  not  broken  ! 
There  was  sweet  water  still  in  the  fountain,  al- 
though at  times  it  might   seem  bitter  to  the  taste. 

She  was  standing  by  the  mirror  arranging  the 
braids  of  her  dark  hair  as  these  reflections  were 
passing  through  her  mind.  "  How  changed  I  am," 
she  continued,  "not  only  in  mind  but  in  face! 
Perplexities  and  disappointments  are  making  sad 
havoc  with  my  good  looks  !  I  must  away  from 
this,"  and  after  preparing  herself  for  a  walk  she 
hastened  to  the  hospital.  She  filled  the  moments 
of  the  laggard  morning  full  of  untiring  work  by 
the  side  of  the  young  nurse  who  flitted  among  the 
cots  where  anxious,  loving  eyes  watched  for  her 
coming  and  grew  dim  as  she  disappeared  from 
their  sight.  Still  her  thoughts  were  roving  and 
regrets  came  to  disturb  her  as  she  remembered 
that  no  more  could  she  place  the  cup  of  cold  water 
to  fevered  lips,  or  with  her  words  soothe  troubled 
minds.  She  was  going  home  to  bury  her  dead, 
while  so  many  were  to  remain  to  be  buried  by 
stranger  hands  !  The  voice  of  the  nurse  recalled 
her. 

"  There  was  a  big  skirmish  down  the  river  last 
night  and  some  of  our  oflicers  were  disabled  and 
are  to  be  brought  here  to-day,  we  are  informed  by 
telegram  !"  and  she  walked  on  where  an  upraised 
hand  was  beckoning. 

"  Who  knows  but  my  poor  brother  is  one  of  the 
fallen  ?"  Anna  mused  as  she  proceeded  towards 
her  temporary  home. 


286  THE    .MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

It  was  nearly  diiiner-tinie  and  she  must  not  let 
the  whole  day  pass  without  visiting  the  lonely  one 
under  her  own  roof.  True,  he  had  not  invited  her 
to  come  again  at  the  close  of  their  last  interview, 
but  he  had  hinted  a  wish  that  she  should  read  the 
morning  papers  to  him  on  her  return,  ]\Irs.  Howard 
had  said.  She  had  hoped  to  escape  this,  but  she 
was  calmer  now.  Herbert  was  gone  ;  men  might 
be  falling  on  the  battle  field  an}'  day  !  It  was  the 
hand  of  war,  not  of  individuals,  that  was  sla3'ing 
the  mothers'  and  sisters'  loved  ones  all  over  the 
land  !  Poor  heart  !  The  tidal  wave  was  receding, 
but  the  waters  underneath  were  black  and  un- 
fathomable ! 

"  He  is  better,  I  think,"  ]\Irs.  Howard  went  on 
to  sa}',  "  and  in  a  few  days,  no  doubt,  will  be  able 
to  sit  up  in  an  eas}^  chair  part  of  the  time.  He 
asked  a  while  ago  if  3'ou  had  returned  from  the 
hospital,  and  looked,  as  he  al\va3'S  does,  a  little  out 
of  patience  that  3'ou  should  devote  so  much  of 
your  time  to  others." 

Anna  was  not  listening  as  her  hostess  bustled 
about  the  table  prattling  in  an  unusual  manner,  as 
it  was  evident  that  she  was  probing  with  her  femi- 
nine curiosity'  deeper  than  had  been  her  wont,  and 
it  seemed  the  dut}-  of  her  victim  to  push  the  in- 
truding hand  away. 

"But  you  will  go  to  him?"  was  the  abrupt 
query  at  last. 

"  It  is  my  intention,"  and  Anna  passed  into  the 
hall.  The  door  of  the  sick  man's  chamber  was 
open,  and  before  she  had  reached  the  upper  land- 
ing she  heard  her  name  called. 

"I  \vant  to  see  3'ou  Anna.  Please  bring  the 
morning  papers,  will  \'ou  ?  " 


THE  "phantom"  removed.  287 

She  could  not  resist  the  pleading  of  the  voice, 
and,  besides,  she  had  expected  to  see  him  again  ; 
but  how  could  she  read  to  him. 

"  I  was  intending  to  brush  away  a  little  of  the 
dust  of  morning  labor  before  coming  to  you,"  she 
remarked  with  a  smile  as  she  entered  and  took  a 
seat  beside  the  bed. 

"  Do  a  better  thing,  Anna,  and  brush  away  the 
dust  from  my  hopes  and  out  of  my  life  !  Would 
not  that  be  a  more  merciful  act  ?  " 

"Can  I  do  all  that,  George  ?  "  and  she  laid  her 
hand  soothingl}^  upon  his  white  forehead. 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  do  so,  since  it  was 
your  hands  scattered  it." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Is  it  your  purpose  to  go  home  and  leave  me 
here  with  your  bloody  spectre  to  haunt  and  dis- 
tract me  ?  Do  I  deserve  such  punishment  ? 
Should  loyalty  to  my  native  land  be  crowned  with 
such  terrible  thorns?  You  have  confessed,  Anna, 
that  a  few  months  ago  you  loved  me,  is  that  most 
holy  attribute  so  easily  uprooted  ?  If  so,  then  I 
have  been  mistaken  in  woman's  heart  ?  "  He  was 
looking  in  her  face,  that  was  thinner  and,  it  may 
be,  paler  than  he  had  ever  seen  it,  and  his  manly 
nature  came  to  the  rescue.  "  Forgive  me,  Anna, 
I  will  not  be  so  cruel !  There  is  somewhere  a 
God  who  will  make  all  right  in  His  own  good  time, 
as  old  aunty  would  say  ;  and  last  night  as  Toby 
lay  snoring  on  the  lounge  yonder,  I  thought  it  all 
over.  Yes,  there  is  a  God ;  and  it  may  be  He  is  at 
work  in  this  great  war  problem,  and  when  the  final 
result  is  summed  up,  we  shall  be  glad  that  the 
storm  passed  this  way,  because  of  the  happy 
issues.     Who   knows  ?     But,  dear  girl,  assure  me 


288  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSED  ALE. 

of  my  guiltlessness  in  creating  the  blast,  or  the 
terrible  lightning  that  is  desolating  so  man}-  hearts 
and  homes !     Will  you  ? 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  a  smile 
broke  over  her  own.  ''  How  low  are  the  might}^ 
fallen  !  "  and  a  low,  rippling  laugh  mingled  itself 
with  her  words.  "  Did  3'ou  ever  imagine  that  I 
thought  you  such  a  great  man,  so  strong  and 
powerful  ?  " 

"  Aly  own  Anna !"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her 
hand  passionately  in  his.  "You  are  not  going  to 
leave  me  comfortless,  but  will  wipe  away  the  mold 
from  hopes,  and  thus  brighten  up  the  future  by 
letting  the  sunshine  in  upon  them  again."  He 
drew  the  beaming  face  down  to  his  own  and  their 
lips  sealed  the  contract  of  mutual  love  and  forgive- 
ness. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  grieve  you  "  she  said  at  last, 
"  but  the  blow  was  a  heav}-  one,  and  all  things 
seemed  to  combine  their  powers  to  keep  my  '  phan- 
tom '  in  active  existence,  but  the}-   are  gone  now." 

"  Tell  me  that  no  more  shall  this  murderous 
spectre  stand  between  us.  This  terrible  war  may 
have  crippled  me  for  life  ;  ni}^  home  and  fortune 
be  taken  from  me  through  its  ravages  ;  but  if  you 
love  and  trust  me,  I  shall,  notwithstanding  all,  be 
the  happiest  of  men." 

"  Is  the  wound  then,  so  very  bad." 

"  The  surgeon  has  more  than  hinted  that  my 
days  of  soldiering  are  over,  but  was  that  all  you 
heard  of  my  long  speech,  made  especiall}-  for  your 
ear  ?  "  he  laughed.  "  You  would  not  care  to  unite 
your  destinies  with  a  cripple,  and  how  would  it  be 
if  the  fortune  was  also  gone  ?     O,  Anna  ! " 


THE  "  PHANTOM  "  REMOVED.         289 

"  Do  not,  George.  I  had  not  thonglit  of  all  that, 
my  mind  is  not  capable  of  taking  such  fanciful 
leaps  ;  I  was  only  thinking  how  sad  all  this  would 
be  for  one  like  you.  But  I  could  not  be  sorry  if 
assured  that  3'ou  would  fight  no  more." 

"  Even  though  a  broken  back  was  my  prevent- 
ive ?  " 

"  The  glimpses  that  come  to  us  at  this  moment 
from  the  overshadowed  future  are  too  bright  to  be 
flecked  with  such  dark  presentiments  ;  I  cannot 
believe  them.  But  there  is  Mrs.  Howard's  step 
on  the  stairs.  How  kind  she  has  been,  and  what 
a  miserable  nurse  I  have  proven  myself." 

"Oh  pshaw!  I  have  improved  more  during 
the  last  half  hour,  under  your  fostering  care,"  than 
I  should  have  done  in  three  weeks  of  her  nursing. 
But  you  must  not  go  3^et  or  there  will  be  great 
danger  of  a  serious  relapse  !  I  will  send  the  good 
soul  to  Jericho  as  soon  as  I  have  swallowed  her  po- 
tion, for  I  have  much  I  want  to  say  while  the  op- 
portunit}^  is  ours." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  necessary  for  3^ou  to  begin 
again  on  these  fever  drops,  as  I  see  your  cheeks  are 
quite  red  this  afternoon,  "  carelessly  remarked  the 
good  lady,  as  she  placed  the  spoon  to  his  lips. 
There  was  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her  eye,  however, 
which  Anna  did  not  fail  to  perceive. 

"  Hang  the  fever  drops  !"  exclaimed  the  patient ; 
"  I  am  ever  so  much  better,  and  am  pondering  the 
propriety  of  going  home  with  ]\Iiss  Pierson  to- 
morrow." 

The  kind  lady  shook  with  suppressed  mirth  as 
she  went  from  the  room,  for  her  keen  eyes  had 
looked  deepei  than  ever  before. 


290  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSED  ALE. 

In  the  evening  Ellen  and  her  father  arrived.  It 
had  been  a  weary  morning  to  Anna,  for  she  had 
waited  their  coming  with  an  anxions  heart,  but  •  :ie 
sky  was  clear  now  and  she  returned  their  greetings 
with  fervor,  wearing  her  great  grief,  it  was  true, 
but  the  joys  of  the  previous  hours  had  so  covered 
it  that  the  dear  ones  were  astonished  to  find 
her  bright  beneath  the  shadow  of  sorrow. 

"  M}-  poor  son,"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Clair,  as 
the  first  greetings  were  over.  "  Yes,  Anna  ;  show 
us  the  wa}'  to  him."  She  obeyed,  and  as  they 
w'ere  ascending  the  stairs,  the  father  remarked,  "I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  receive  a  favorable  report 
of  yotir  nursing,  for  I  am  convinced  b}'  the  pallor 
of  your  cheeks  that  there  have  been  sad  hours  of 
watching  and  anxiet}-." 

"  How  I  shrink  from  taking  your  place,"  inter- 
rupted the  sister.  "  Poor  George  !  He  will  read- 
ily perceive  the  difference,  I  fear." 

Anna's  heart  sank  within  her  as  she  listened  to 
the  words  of  her  companions,  who  were  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  wounds  the}-  were  probing.  Ellen 
must  not  know  it ;  and  then  she  was  so  soon  to 
leave  him  !  This  would  be  harder  now,  but  he 
was  to  fight  no  more  and  the}'  might  j^et  be  happy  ! 
It  was  a  grief  to  her  that  she  had  ever  neglected 
him  and  brought  sorrow  instead  of  jo}'  into  his 
hours  of  suffering.  She  opened  the  door  of  the  sick 
man's  chamber,  and  as  the  father  and  sister  passed 
in  reclosed  it  and  retired  to  her  own  room.  More 
than  one  reason  prompted  her  to  do  this,  3^et  the}^ 
must  know  in  time  ihat  a  great  jo}-  had  been  amid 
her  throes  of  bereavement.  She  would  not  have 
them  grieved  by  her  seeming  idiosyncrasies.  They 
might  blame  her  for  apparent  neglect ;  and  O  if  it 


THR  "  PHANTOM  "  REMOVED.         291 

had  not  been  !  Still  he  had  not  suffered  as  had 
she  ;  her  heart  assured  her  of  this,  and  it  pressed 
the  thought  as  a  consolation  over  the  bleeding 
fissure  as  the  wounded  bird  attempts  to  hide  its 
ebbing  life's  blood  beneath  its  fluttering  wing ! 
But  it  was  over,  and  now  the  phantom  had  been 
driven,  ah  whither?  Would  it  ever  haunt  her 
again  ?  He  had  said  :  "  There  is  a  God  somewhere 
who  will  make  it  all  right  in  His  own  good  time," 
and  she  would  wait. 

Tea  was  ready  and  the  three  sat  down  together, 
Mr.  St.  Clair  and  Ellen  to  satisfy  a  sharpened  ap- 
petite after  a  long  and  tiresome  journey,  and  Anna 
to  do  the  honors  of  the  table  after  their  home  style 
in  the  north. 

"  George  is  looking  so  much  better  than  I  had 
hoped  to  find  him,"  said  the  father.  "  I  think  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  bless  3  on  ]\Iiss  Anna  for  his 
rapid  improvement.  It  has  been  so  kind  in  you 
to  think  of  others,  although  3'OU  were  so  heavily 
burdened  with  your  own  bitter  sorrow !  What  a 
debt  of  gratitude  you  and  yours  are  heaping  upon 
us !"  he  continued,  musingl3\  "  But  war  must 
always  bear  its  '  apples  of  ashes  '  and  God  on]}'- 
knows  where  the  ax  should  be  laid  !" 

There  were  tears  in  Anna's  e3-es,  for  the  foun- 
tain of  grief  had  been  for  so  man3^  days  open  that 
the  liquid  drops  flowed  now  almost  unconsciously 
when  the  angel  of  pity  stirred  the  bitter  waters. 
Ellen  saw  them  and  the  dew-drops  of  sympathy 
moistened  her  own  dark  ones.  "It  would  be  so 
hard  to  lose  a  brother,"  she  thought.  "  How  glad 
she  was  that  George  was  better !" 

"  You  must  go  with  us,"  said  Ellen  as  they 
arose  from  the  table  and   went  out  into  the    hall. 


292  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE, 

"  You  must  begin  to  initiate  me  in  your  skill  of 
liygeine  ;  beside,  George  inquired  for  j'OU.  I  see 
how  it  will  be,  j^ou  are  to  be  sadly  missed  when 
only  my  poor  inexperienced  hands  are  brought 
into  service  !"  She  noticed  the  agitation  of  her 
companion,  and  placing  an  arm  affectionately 
around  her  said,  soothingly:  "  You  know  my 
heart,  dear  girl,  and  that  it  is  full  of  sympathy, 
but  my  tongue  is  a  miserable  medium  with  which 
to  communicate  it  to  another !  Let  it  be  sufftcient 
that  I  can  feel  that  3'ou  are  sure  of  this  and  will 
never  doubt  me !" 

"Doubt  you,  Ellen?  Never  for  a  moment! 
But  my  mother;  how  is  she?" 

"  Sorrow-stricken,  of  course,  but  strangelj^  re- 
signed. There  is  something  noble  in  such  a  grief 
as  hers,  Anna!  No,  you  need  not  shrink  from 
meeting  her  ;  she  will  comfort  you  !  I  see  by  3'our 
face,  poor  sufferer,  that  you  need  it !  She  will  do 
3^ou  good,  never  fear  !" 

"Just  step  in  my  room  for  a  moment,  Ellen  ;  I 
would  not  have  him  see  me  tear-stained  again.  I 
have  wept  so  much  for  the  last  few  days.  You 
speak  truly,  I  do  need  my  mother,  for  I  am  very 
weak.  Ellen,  there  has  been  more  gall  in  the  cup 
I  have  been  draining  than  j^ou  can  ever  know  !  A 
darker  wave  has  rolled  over  my  soul  than  can  ever 
lift  your  bark,  my  precious  friend;  but  what  mat- 
ters it  after  all,  when  we  find  ourselves  sinking  we 
are  led  to  cry  out  '  save  or  I  perish  ?'  We  shall  be 
chided  some  day  for  our  faithlessness  and  doubt- 
ings,  and  it  is  better  that  we  should  receive  it 
while  yet  on  the  sea,  for  the  calm,  Ellen,  is  peace- 
ful after  the  storm."  She  had  been  bathing  her 
face  and  arranging  her  hair   while  speaking,  and 


THE  "  PHANTOM  "  REMOVED.         293 

now   turned  toward   her   companion   with  the  old 
smile  wreathing  her  lips. 

''  You  are  like  your  mother,"  and  again  the  arm 
of  affection  drew  them  closer  together  as  they  pro- 
ceeded to  the  room  where  the  father  and  brother 
were  awaiting  them. 

That  night,  contrary  to  the  doctor's  instructions, 
there  was  a  long  conversation  in  the  sick  man's 
chamber,  in  which  he  earnestly  joined. 

"  Let  it  be  settled,  father,  that  you  return  with 
Anna,"  he  said  at  length.  "  I  shall  get  along  all 
right  with  Ellen  and  Mrs.  Howard,  with  what 
Toby  can  help,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt ;  and, 
besides,  we  rebels  must  not  be  too  exacting  or  ex- 
pect too  much."  His  eyes  were  upon  Anna,  and 
she  knew  it.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  but  the  great 
hope  in  her  heart  kept  back  the  haunting  spec- 
tre his    words   might  otherwise  have   summoned. 

"  He  is  a  rebel  no  more,"  she  thought.  His 
voice  recalled  her. 

"  Besides,  you  will  be  needed  in  the  widow's 
home  to  assist  and  cheer.  It  will  not  be  a  great 
while  before  I  shall  be  able  to  join  you  all  there, 
for  immediately  on  being  well  enough  to  sit  up  for 
a  few  hours  I  shall  leave  for  the  North — through 
my  convalescence  at  least." 

There  were  quick  glances  into  each  other's  faces, 
but  he  was  silent. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  say,  my  son,"  was  the  father's 
conclusion,  "  but  I  fear  we  are  tiring  you." 
"  Yes,  you  will  feel  better  after  a  rest,  and  to-mor- 
row we  will  talk  farther  on  the  subject." 

Four  days  afterward  a  solemn  cortege  wended 
its  way  through  the  little  village  of  Glendale,  bear- 
ing its    dead    from    the    station    to   the   home  of 


291 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDAEE. 


bereavement  and  sorrow.  There  were  warm  hand 
claspings,  and  words  of  sympathy  and  condolence, 
and  tears,  such  as  mothers  alone  can  shed,  when 
maternal  love  is  stricken ;  when  heart  answers  to 
heart  with  the  sad  echo  of  loneliness  and  desolation. 
And  so  they  laid  Edward  Pierson  away  upon  the 
hillside  ;  the  first  martyr  in  all  the  region  on  the 
altar  of  freedom  ! 


A  Scene  in  the  Dismal  Swamp,  Virginia. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

NEW    RESOLVES — AND    NEW  ADVENTURES. 

"  Teach  me  thy  way,  O  Lord,  and  lead  me  in  a 
plain  path,  because  of  mine  enemies.  Deliver  me 
not  over  unto  the  will  of  mine  enemies,  for  false 
witnesses  are  risen  up  against  me,  and  such  as 
breathe  out  cruelty." 

These  words  Lillian  Belmont  repeated  to  her- 
self as  the  carriage  that  was  bearing  her  away 
from  home  and  early  associations  rolled  down  the 
highway  leading  to  the  depot,  where  she  with  her 
cousin  Grace  Stanley  were  to  take  the  cars  for 
New  Orleans.  Mrs.  Stanley  was  the  youngest 
sister  of  the  deceased  master  of  Rosedale,  but 
since  his  death  very  little  intimacy  had  been  con- 
tinued between  the  families,  until  Mrs.  Belmont 
meeting  the  vivacious,  merry-hearted  Grace  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  using  her  for  a  purpose,  and 
so  had  invited  her  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  her 
"morbid"  cousin.  All  things,  however,  had  not 
worked  to  that  lady's  satisfaction,  as  we  have 
learned,  and  now  with  a  mother's  curse  weighing 
her  down  the  daughter  had  joined  with  David  in 
the  supplication,  "lead  me  in  a  plain  path."  Was 
He  leading  her  ?  The  path  as  yet  was  dark  and 
overshadowed,  but  she  had  clasped  the  gentle  hand 
and  the  promise  was,  "  I  will  never  leave  or  for- 
sake thee  ;"  and  with  simple,  childlike   trust  she 

295 


lilXJ  THE    MISTRKSS    UF    KUSHDALE. 

walked  forward.  During  the  winter  slie  liad  writ- 
ten several  times  to  lier  mother,  pleading  she 
would  clear  awa^^  the  mysteries  of  the  past,  remove 
the  maternal  edicts,  so  that  over  the  debris  of 
broken  hopes  and  shattered  ambitions  they  might 
again  come  together,  reconciled  and  loving.  But 
no  response  to  these  pleadings  came  to  her.  To 
be  sure  there  were  letters  from  loved  ones  telling 
of  the  early  removal  of  her  famil}'  to  the  cit}-,  of 
the  visit  to  the  Washburns,  of  the  sudden  death  of 
little  Shad}^  with  poor  old  Vina\s  wail  of  anguish, 
but  not  a  word  of  sympathy  from  the  heart  where 
the  maternal  love  lay  buried. 

The  bugle  notes  of  war  sounded  through  the 
streets  of  New  Orleans,  and  the  passions  of  men 
were  stirred  as  never  before.  Women  too,  who  had 
quaffed  only  from  the  chalice  of  case  and  pleasure, 
awoke  from  the  lethargy  of  indulgence  to  find 
themselves  tossing  upon  a  sea  of  excitement  and 
alarm.  Lillian  was  interested,  and  for  a  time  her 
own  troubled  life  was  swallowed  up  in  the  tumults 
that  threatened  the  peace  and  liarmon}-  of  the 
nation's  life.  Bustle,  energ}-  and  activity  were 
everywhere. 

"What  a  useless,  helpless  thing  I  am!"  she 
said  to  her  aunt  one  evening  as  they  sat  alone, 
after  the  husband,  who  was  wearied  with  his  day's 
toils  in  the  unpretentious  hardware  store  near  the 
wharf  had  retired  to  his  room,  and  Grace  was  en- 
tertaining a  friend  in  the  parlor.  "  It  seems  to  me 
I  am  suddenly  aroused  by  a  storm,  and  unless  I 
run  for  my  life  shall  be  covered  out  of  sight  in  its 
fury!"  She  laughed,  but  there  was  a  seriousness 
in  her  pale  face  her  aunt  had  never  seen  upon  it 
bef)re. 


NEW    ADVENTURES.  297 

"  I  do  not  wouder  you  think  yourself  out  in  the 
wind,"  was  the  cheerful  response,  "  for  Grace  is 
enough  to  stir  up  the  sleepy  faculties  of  any  lover 
of  her  country.  I  do  not  know  but  she  will 
'  shoulder  arms  '  and  go  into  the  field  in  defence 
of  her  native  land!"  and  the  good  lady  laughed 
outright.  There  was  a  long  silence,  while  Lillian 
never  once  removed  her  gaze  from  the  djdng 
embers  in  the  grate  as  she  actively  traced  the 
wanderings    and  leapings    of  her  busy    thoughts. 

At  last  she  said  in  an  undertone :  "  Grace  is  very 
gentle  considering  her  confederate  proclivites  ;  but 
has  it  occurred  to  you  that  I  have  a  hiisband 
somewhere  in  that  confusion  and  excitement 
among  our  enemies,  as  we  call  them  ?" 

"  O,  Lillian !"  and  the  cheerful  face  put  on  a 
look  of  serious  incredulity.  "  You  will  not  now 
certainly  desire  to  seek  out  a  relationship  from 
among  a  people,  who  would,  if  in  their  power,  kill 
or  enslave  us  all  ?"  Lillian's  dark  eyes  wandered 
slowly  to  the  troubled  face  of  the  speaker.  "  I 
have  fully  joined  with  my  daughter  in  the  feeling 
that  a  great  wrou'^^  has  been  perpertrated  on  you, 
still  I  did  hope  that  this  terrible  war  would  oblit- 
erate forever  all  such  former  ties  and  leave  you 
free,  as  free  as  though  they  had  never  been!" 

"  And  here  I  am  shocking  you  with  my  heart's 
cry  for  its  idol,  for  its  tenderest  loves,  for  the 
purest  longings  known  to  woman's  nature  [  Lis- 
ten to  me,  Aunt  Sylvia,  I  am  going  north !  The 
blow  has  been  struck  I  Fort  Sumter  has  fallen  ! 
There  will  be  wounded  hearts  to  bind  up  and 
wounded  bodies  to  care  for !  Sorrow  and  lamenta- 
tion will  fill  many  homes,  and  the  cry  for  help  and 
sympathy   will   sound  over  the  land.     I  shall  get 


298  THE    MISTRKSS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

out  of  my  life  of  indolence  and  plunge  into  the 
thickest  scenes  of  labor  !" 

"  Yes,  Lillian,  3'OU  do  shock  me !  Why  go 
north?  If  3'OU  must  work,  will  there  not  be  plenty 
of  it  to  do  among  your  own  people  ?  Are  they  not 
as  deserving  of  3-our  care  and  sympath}'  as  their 
enemies  ?'' 

"  Auntie,  I  have  told  Grace  and  now  will  tell 
you  !  Somewhere  in  the  north  I  have  a  husband 
and  child  !  Do  not  look  at  me  with  that  spirit  of 
incredulity  peering  out  of  3'our  e3'es,  for  it  is  no 
random  suspicion — no  new  thought.  My  husband 
lives,  and  the  letter  I  received  last  night  from 
George  St.  Clair  gives  me  the  information  that  a 
'  Pearl  Hamilton,'  who  started  with  a  captain's 
commission  from  Pennsylvania  was  promoted  to 
the  position  of  colonel  of  his  regiment  by  the  en- 
tire vote  of  each  compan3^  upon  reaching  Washing- 
ton. This  he  copied  from  a  paper  for  m3'  especial 
benefit ;  and  that  Colonel  Hamilton  is  luy  husband  \ 
viy  Pearl!  He  is  true  to  me — our  hearts  are  one, 
and  the  fast  growing  desire  to  go  to  him  has, 
since  the  receipt  of  that  letter,  become  full-fledged  ; 
and  before  communication  between  the  two  sec- 
tions is  entirel3^  cut  off  I  shall  go!" 

"  Did  not  the  knowledge  of  his  notoriet3^  help  to 
feather  the  wings  of  love,  m3'  child  ?" 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  voice  with 
which  these  words  were  uttered  that  caused  the 
listener's  face  to  flush  with  amazement  and  indigf- 
nation. 

"This  from  you,  Auntie!"  she  said  at  last. 
"  Look  at  me ;  remember  what  I  have  endured, 
realize  for  a  moment  from  what  I  have  been  torn, 
consider  the  burdens  that  are  weighing  me  down. 


NEW    ADVENTURES.  299 

and  then,  if  it  be  possible,  repeat  the  question. 
You  do  not  know  me  !  For  this  reason  I  forgive 
the  cruel  thrust !  Pearl  Hamilton  would  hold  my 
heart  as  firmly  and  truly  if  he  were  now  the  hum- 
ble clerk  in  the  store  where  I  first  knew  him,  as 
an  honored  officer  in  the  enemy's  army !" 

Mrs.  Stanlc}^  took  the  little  white  hand  that  lay 
on  the  arm  of  the  easy  chair  where  Lillian  was 
sitting  and  holding  it  in  her  loving  clasp,  said, 
soothingly :  "  My  darling,  I  did  not  mean  at  all 
what  I  said.  You  are  too  much  like  your  father 
to  be  guilty  of  such  unwomanly  selfishness.  I 
was  a  little  indignant  that  you  should  persist  in 
keeping  faith  with  your  childhood's  love,  and  so 
uttered  what  I  did  not  at  all  feel !  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, endure  the  thought  of  your  going  through 
the  enemy's  lines,  and  if  he  is  a  soldier  as  you 
hear,  he  may  be  brought  to  you  as  a  prisoner  of 
.war,  when  you  could  be  more  speedily  reunited 
than  if  you  should  follow  out  your  own  wild 
schemes." 

"  Pearl  is  not  all  I  have  in  that  muddle !  Did  I 
not  say  a  husband  and  child  ?  Grace  has  told  you 
that  I  was  a  mother  and  that  my  pretty  Lily  died 
and  was  buried ;  but  my  dear  aunt,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it !  I  never  did  believe  it !  Still  I  had  not 
the  power  to  combat  the  story  that  was  told  me  ! 
O,  I  have  been  so  weak  !  But  a  letter  received  by 
my  mother,  and  which  accidentally  fell  into  my 
hands,  and  her  confusion  and  evident  alarm  as  I 
held  it  before  her,  assured  me  that  I  was  the  sub- 
ject of  a  heartless  fraud  and  that  my  child  lived  ! 
Ever  since  I  have  pondered  how  I  could  find  her ! 
If  I  knew  the  place  where  she  was  born ;  at  what 
point  on  the   Atlantic  shore   stood  the   romantic 


300  THE    MISTRESS   OE    ROSEDALE. 

'  Cliff  House  ' ;  where  I  was  imprisoned  those  dread- 
ful weeks,  I  should  before  this  have  visited  it. 
The  weird  old  nurse  would,  I  am  sure,  tell  me  all, 
notwithstanding  her  bribes  for  secrec}-  !" 

"  Surely  you  do  not  believe  all  this,  Lillian  ? 
No  wonder  the  hungering  of  your  heart  has  eaten 
the  bloom  from  your  clieek  !  But  there  must  be 
some  mistake.  No  matter  how  lofty  nia_y  be  a 
mother's  ambition  she  could  not  be  guilty  of  so 
vile  an  act !" 

''  Auntie,  my  cry  for  months  has  been  '  lead  me 
in  a  plain  path  ',  and  I  have  been  watching  for  the 
shadows  to  clear  away  that  I  might  see  the  road, 
and  now  that  ni}'  plea  has  been  seemingly 
answered  and  the  '  path  '  winds  alone  through  the 
future  mysteries  so  distincth-  to  my  poor,  tremb- 
ling vision  shall  I  not  walk  therein  ?  Indeed,  I 
uiiist  go !  I  can  not  sit  idly  here  with  folded 
hands  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  and  so 
many  links  to  be  gathered  up  !  J\Iy  mother  well 
understood  my  inertness  and  worthlessness  ;  she 
knew  too  that  ni}-  pride  would  not  long  allow  me 
to  be  a  dependent  on  those  upon  whom  I  only  had 
the  claims  of  kinship.  This,  she  was  sure,  would 
in  time  bring  me  in  humble  penitence  to  her  feet. 
I  cannot  do  this  ;  and  the  other  path  leads  me 
farther  away  from  her!     I  rnust  go!" 

True  to  her  conclusions,  in  a  few  days  lyiHian 
Belmont,  the  petted  child  of  luxury,  weak  and 
enervated  by  indolence  and  indulgence,  started 
alone  amid  the  protestations  and  pleadings  of 
those  who  loved  her,  en  route  for  Philadelphia 
where  she  knew  another  aunt,  the  oldest  sister  of 
her  father,  would  give  her  a  hearty  welcome.  It 
was  a  tiresome   and  exciting  journey.     Quizzing 


NEW   ADVENTURES.  301 

eyes  were  upon  her  ever3^wliere  ;  suspicious  glan- 
ces were  thrust  at  her  from  every  side,  and  not 
until  she  crossed  the  southern  lines  did  she  settle 
calmly  down. 

Mrs.  Cheevers  received  her  as  one  risen  from 
the  dead.  Clasping  the  slender  form  in  her  arms 
she  gazed  long  and  steadfastly  into  the  pale  face' 
without  speaking.  "  To  think  it  is  Lillian  !"  she 
said  at  last.  "  O,  if  Pearl  were  only  here  !  How  he 
has  loved  you  my  child."  But  tears,  the  first  that 
had  moistened  the  beautiful  eyes  of  the  stricken 
Lillian  for  many  weeks,  were  now  choking  her  ut- 
terance, and  she  lay  as  a  weary  child  on  the  tender, 
sympathizing  breast  where  her  poor  head  was  pil- 
lowed. Mrs.  Cheevers  had  known  what  the  long- 
ings of  the  mother  love  meant.  Well  did  she 
understand  the  hungerings  of  its  unsatisfied  greed, 
and  as  she  kissed  over  and  over  again  the  pure 
white  forehead  she  thanked  God  that  her  brother's 
child  could  nestle  so  closely  to  her  empty  breast ! 

"  You  can  never  know  how  peaceful  I  feel !" 
Lillian  said  an  hour  after  as  they  sat  at  a  well- 
filled  board,  where  she  was  satisfying  a  keener 
appetite  than  she  had  felt  for  many  day.  "  I  could 
fly  for  very  jo}^,  so  light  and  buoyant  are  my 
spirits  !  I  have  carried  a  burden  so  long  that  the 
release  seems  almost   oppressive  !" 

"Poor  child!"  murmured  the  aunt,  while  the 
masculine  face  opposite  wore  an  expression  of  the 
deepest  sympathy. 

"  And  to  think,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  we  should 
have  believed  for  a  moment  what  those  letters  con- 
tained! You  will,  however,  do  me  the  honor, 
wife,  to  assure  our  little  Lillian  that  I  never  did  !" 


302  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  I  will  do  3^ou  the  justice  to  acknowledge  that 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Pearl  Hamilton  3'our  guilt 
would  never  have  been  a  whit  less  than  ni}-  own." 
A  merry  laugh  followed  this  remark,  and  when  it 
died  awa\'  Lillian  asked  with  as  much  calmness  as 
she  could  summon  if  she  might  be  permitted  to 
examine  the  letters  spoken  of. 

"  Of  course  3-011  nia3-,"  interposed  the  uncle. 
"Read  them,  ever3'  one,  and  then  forgive  3'our 
fickle  relative  for  swallowing  the  absurd  idea  that 
she  who  could  believe  one  of  the  noblest  of  men 
was  heartless  !  But  he  will  be  around  after  the 
first  three  months  are  over,  and  then  we  shall  see 
how  this  matter  is  to  be  settled  !  In  the  meantime 
3'ou  just  rest  here  and  grow  fat,  for  we  shall  have 
regular  news  from  the  battle  field,  and  he  is  no 
private !  His  mother  is  the  proudest  woman  in 
this  immense  cit3-  to-night ;  and  I  am  going  to  tell 
her  that  the  dead  is  alive,  and — " 

"  Please  do  not  uncle  !"  pleaded  Lillian.  "  Per- 
mit me  to  remain  secluded  and  unknown  until — 
well,  for  the  present  at  least.  It  would  be  so  awk- 
ward to  explain,  and  so  impossible  to  convince. 
Besides,  I  am  in  m3'  swaddling  clothes  3'et ;  let  me 
get  a  little  stronger  and  firmer.  I  am  so  happ3" 
that  I  fear  any  intrusion  ;  and  shall  be  jealous  of 
every  interference." 

"  Say  no  more;  I  am  not  a  woman,  and  can 
govern  the  '  unruly  member  '  with  true  masculine 
power !  Be  happy,  nothing  shall  interfere  with 
your  growth  or  pleasure  while  3-011  remain  under 
my  roof;"  and  he  took  his  hat  from  the  rack  and 
stepped  nimbl3^  from  the  house. 

Weeks  passed.  There  had  been  a  dead  calm  on 
the  Potomac  which  oul3^  served  to  agitate  and  stir 


NEW   ADVENTURES.  308 

Up  a  greater  excitement  elsewhere.  There  were 
mil rni  11  rings  of  discontent  ;  whisperings  ever  so 
faint  of  rebellion  in  high  places  ;  there  were  im- 
petuous longings  and  low  mutterings  of  censure 
because  the  wheels  of  progress  were  blocked  and 
the  final  consummation  of  overhanging  difficulties 
was  not  speedily  brought  about ;  not  realizing 
that  God  was  marking  out  the  path  to  a  grand  and 
glorious  victory.  How  prone  are  human  e3^es  to 
seek  after  their  own  paths  and  rely  upon  their  own 
strength  to  "overcome." 

But  the  great  battle,  which  sent  terror  into 
thousands  of  hearts  and  homes,  came  at  last ! 
Men  gathered  upon  the  street  corners  in  the  great 
city,  and  quivering  lips  talked  over  the  great  de- 
feat !  The  hearts  of  women  pressed  silentl}^  the 
bleeding  wounds  from  which  life-blood  was  ebbing, 
for  loved  ones  were  slain  ;  and  the  dark  cloud 
which  had  heretofore  seemed  no  larger  than  a 
man's  hand  was  covering  the  whole  sky.  Where 
was  it  all  to  end  ? 

Lillian  was  mute  but  not  inactive.  Reports 
heralded  the  startling  facts  that  mau}^  officers  were 
wounded  and  many  were  killed.  In  the  confusion 
and  excitement,  names  were  withheld  or  not  yet 
ascertained,  and  three  days  cleared  not  awa}'  the 
uncertainties. 

"I  shall  go  to  Washington  on  the  night  train," 
said  Lillian  very  calmly_  as  the  little  circle  were 
talking  it  over  at  the  table. 

"  You,  my  child  ?"  Pray  what  could  you  do  in 
such  a  place  at  a  time  like  this  ?" 

"  Please  do  not  think  me  entirely  worthless  un- 
cle ;  I  can  do  many  things  if  sympathy  compels 
me,  I  feel    sure.     Why    not    I,  as  well  as  others  ? 


304  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

Nurses  are  called  for  and  if  1113'  hands  have  never 
learned  what  belongs  to  them,  ni}''  heart  lias  be- 
come familiar  with  the  necessities  sorrow  demands. 
I  can  speak  soothing  words  to  smooth  the  pillow  of 
the  dying.  I  can  give  a  cup  of  cold  water  if  too 
weak  to  bind  up  a  broken  limb!  There  is  work 
and  I  am  going  to  offer  ni3'self  to  aid  in  perform- 
ing it.  Do  not  oppose  me.  I  have  passed  through 
so  many  grades  of  opposition  and  contention  that 
I  have  become  well  skilled  in  the  art  of  defeating, 
so  do  not  trouble  3'ourself  to  combat  me."  She 
smiled,  but  the  new  resolve  had  left  its  impress  on 
the  calm,  mild  face,  and  no  further  opposition  was 
raised. 

We  have  seen  her  in  the  hospital  doing  the  work 
of  kindness  and  sympath}'  nobh*  and  well.  There 
was  not  one  whose  gentle  voice  could  woo  the  suf- 
ferer into  repose  as  could  hers.  Not  one  whose 
nerves  were  firmer  when  duty  laid  her  demand 
upon  them. 

"  There  was  a  serious  skirmish  down  the  river 
last  night,"  she  had  said  to  Anna  Pierson  during 
her  last  visit  to  the  liospital,  "  and  the  wounded 
were  brought  in."  "  Colonel  Hamilton,  however, 
did  not  arrive  for  two  or  three  da3^s,  as  his  wounds 
were  aggravated,  being  the  fracture  of  an  arm  and 
the  dislocation  of  the  opposite  shoulder,  caused  by 
the  falling  from  his  horse.  A  bullet  had  also 
lodged  in  his  side  at  the  time  he  was  disabled,  and 
the  uncertainties  of  his  situation  barred  his  remo- 
val. The  papers,  however  had  not  been  silent, 
and  the  3^oung  nurse  had  learned,  before  his  com- 
ing, of  the  fears  entertained  regarding  him.  How 
she  longed  to  administer  to  his  ever3'  need,  while 
her  heart  shrank  from  the  very  thought  of  stand- 


NEW    ADVENTURES.  305 

ing  before  him.  How  would  lie  meet  her?  He 
was  true,  they  had  said  ;  but  could  they  read  his 
secret  thought,  or  be  sure  of  the  emotions  beneath 
his  calm  exterior  ?  He  was  noble  and  eood,  but 
years  would  deck  the  saddest  grave  with  blossoms, 
and  spread  over  it  a  rich  covering  of  emerald 
brightness. 

"  She  wondered  and  trembled,  and  prayed  until 
the  day  came  when  the  stately  form  was  carried 
through  the  long  ward  and  laid  tenderly  on  a  neat 
white  couch  prepared  for  it.  Then  they  came  to 
her. 

"  This  new  patient  we  will  commit  expressly  to 
your  care  ;"  said  one.  "  He  must  soon  be  able  to 
mount  his  horse  again,  and  no  one  can  soothe  an 
impatient  soldier  back  to  life  and  activit}^  as  soon 
yourself,  I  am  told,  so  do  your  best.  Let  me  in- 
troduce you,"  and  the  attendant  turned  toward  the 
bed  where  Colonel  Hamilton  was  lying. 

How  her  knees  trembled,  and  what  a  faintness 
came  over  her,  yet  she  walked  mechanically  for- 
ward. "  Miss,  Miss,"  and  he  turned  towards  Lil- 
lian who  was  waiting  for  the  introduction,  "  I 
think  you  will  get  along  rapidly  with  this  young 
lady  to  care  for  you  ;"  and  he  bowed  graciously. 
The  eyes  of  the  wounded  man  were  fixed  intently 
upon  the  pallid  face  before  him,  as  the  attendant 
walked  slowly  away  to  conclude  another  matter  in 
the  farther  part  of  the  ward.  Neither  spoke.  Six- 
teen years  had,  indeed,  brought  changes  into  the 
face  of  each.  He  had  grown  handsomer  and  nobler, 
she  thought.  Her  face  had  become  thinner  and 
paler,  but  those  eyes ;  no,  no  one  could  mistake 
their  lustre  or  beauty. 


306 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


"Lillian?"  he  interrogated  at  last,  with  a  doubt- 
ful tone,  "  It  must  be,  surely  it  must  be  Lillian! 
— my  own — my  wife  !" 

She  was  beside  him — her  arms  around  his  neck; 

"Pearl!  O,  my  husband!  Thank  God,  you 
are  mine  at  last !  You  cannot  leave  me  now,  and 
no  one  shall  tear  me  from  you." 

Let  us  drop  the  veil ;  there  are  scenes  too  holy 
for  intruding  eyes  to  dwell  upon. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

FLIGHT    OF    THE    SOUTHERN    SPY. 

Swiftly  the  weeks  sped  onward,  laden  with  the 
events  of  the  nation's  disasters.  Battles  in  the 
far  west  were  being  fought,  and  mourning  and 
bereavements  swept  as  a  terrible  wave  over  the 
land,  lighted  up  here  and  there  with  the  exulta- 
tions of  victory  ;  but  beneath  all  the  waters  lay 
deep  and  turbid.  Mrs.  Southey  remained  secluded 
for  some  daj^s  after  her  return  from  Alexandria. 
She  had  no  doubt  but  her  daughter  had  recognized 
her,  notwithstanding  her  disguise,  and  in  all  prob- 
ability would  endeavor  to  hunt  her  out.  "Would 
she  expose  me  ?"  There  was  madness  in  the  very 
thought,  but  the  question  would  often  present 
itself.  "Yet  what  el^e  could  she  do?  Under- 
standing, as  she  does,  my  Confederate  sentiments, 
she  cannot  be  at  a  loss  in  regard  to  my  mission 
here,"  was  her  dail}-  conclusion,  and  strongl}^  was 
she  tempted  to  fly  from  the  city.  But  where  could 
she  go  ?  To  Philadelphia  ?  She  had  been  criti- 
cised severely  from  that  source  in  regard  to  her 
treatment  of  that  very  one  from  whom  she  was 
now  contemplating  hiding  herself.  It  would  not  be 
pleasant  going  there,  and  no  other  northern  home 
was,  to  her  knowledge,  open  to  her. 

After  thinking  it  over,  she  calmly  informed  her 
hostess  that  she  proposed  to  remain  where  she  was, 

307 


308       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

for  the  present  at  least,  and  trust  the  pride  and 
natural  kindness  of  her  daughter,  who  she  must 
confess  had  a  goodly  share  of  both  these  com- 
modities. 

"  She  would  not  willingl}-  disgrace  herself,  nor," 
and  she  added  with  some  hesitanc}^,  "bring  miser}^, 
perhaps  death,  upon  her  mother:  at  least  I  must 
rely  upon  all  this  as   the  lesser  of  the  two   evils.'" 

"  Then  she  is  not  wholly  depraved,  as  j^ou  have 
been  so  willing  I  should  believe,"  remarked  her 
companion,  "  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken 
in  that  face.  What  if  you  should  go  and  throw 
3^ourself  on  her  mere}-?  I  can  but  feel  sure  that 
you  would  receive  it." 

"  No,  I  cannot  do  that.  And  then  you  thought 
it  impossible  that  she  should  recognize  me.  It 
ma}'  be  so.  There  certainly  would  be  a  want  of 
discretion  should  I  wantonly  expose  myself  with- 
out a  suret}'  of  protection.  The  onl}^  way  I  can 
discover  is  to  trust  in  Providence  and  wait  results." 

"  Providence  !"  sneered  her  companion.  "  Mea- 
ger claims  have  we  on  its  friendly  protection  I 
imagine.  The  fact  is,  Airs.  Southe}^,  we  must  fig- 
ure this  whole  matter  for  ourselves.  There  seems 
to  be  considerable  spunk  in  the  plethoric  old 
gentleman  this  war  is  stirring  up,  and  I  doubt  if 
he  would  treat  such  as  we  with  a  great  amount  of 
gallantry  if  introduced  to  him,  and,  therefore,  let 
us  figure  closely,  and  not  trust  to  vagaries  of  which 
we  know  so  little.  It  may  do  for  a  Christian  like 
yourself^  but  you  know  that  I  am  an  outsider." 
This  last  remark  was  a  little  too  cynical,  and  the 
lady  to  whom  it  was  addressed  arose  to  her  feet 
with  flashing  ej^es.  Her  companion  only  smiled, 
however,  as  she  motioned  her  to  be  re-seated. 


FLIGHT    OF    THE   SOUTHERN    SPY.  o09 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mon  aniic^  I  did  not  really 
think  you  would  resent  the  first  compliment  I  ever 
gave  you,"  she  laughed,  then  continued.  "  I  have 
been  hindering  you  all  the  time.  Where  were  you 
going  ?     Out  for  a  walk  ?" 

No  sisters  ever  understood  each  other  better 
than  did  these  two  women,  and  seldom  was  it  that 
two  ever  despised  each  other  more.  They  had  met 
but  seldom  before  "  Mrs.  Southey "  came  to 
Washington  as  a  southern  spy,  but  well  she  knew 
that  in  the  home  she  sought  she  would  find  co- 
operation. In  this  she  had  not  been  mistaken. 
Her  mission  was  carefully  guarded,  but  her  every- 
day life  underwent  careful  scrutiny.  Her  dignity 
as  the  '  Mistress  of  Rosedale '  was  continually 
pierced  and  wounded  without  mercy,  while  she  re- 
mained powerless  in  the  hands  of  her  tormentor. 
The  morning  scene  we  are  chronicling  was  not  an 
exceptional  one  ;  still  it  left  the  lady  in  a  burning 
rage.  At  dinner,  however,  the  hostess  met  her 
with  many  bland  excuses  for  neglecting  her  so 
long,  thus  pressing  the  thorns  deeper  that  were 
sorely  goading  her  victim  all  unconsciously  to 
other  eyes.  How  true  that  the  spirit  of  evil  des- 
pises and  seeks  to  lacerate  itself  when  its  reflection 
is  seen  in  the  bosom  of  another ! 

"  I  have  an  invitation  for  you  to  take  an  airing 
in  the  elegant  turn-out  of  our  pet  senator,  by  the 
side  of  his  queenly  wife,  this  p.  m.,  at  four."  The 
bustling  housekeeper  said  this  amid  the  superin- 
tending of  the  dinner  arrangements.  "  You  will 
go,  of  course,  and  so  I  told  the  servant  who  brought 
in  the  card.  You  are  looking  so  pale  and  thin  that 
I  am  sure  the  ride  will  do  you  good." 


310  THE    MISTRESS    OF    R(3SEDALE. 

At  the  hour  appointed  the  carriage  stood  before 
the  door,  and  the  senator's  wife  called  ont  pleasant- 
ly, as  the  two  ladies  appeared  in  sight,  "  the  air  is 
delicious,  Airs.  Sonthe}',  and  I  can  fulh^  recom- 
mend its  sanitary  powers,  having  been  cured  of  an 
oppressive  headache  alread}-.  You  are  not  looking 
as  well  as  usual,"  she  continued,  as  the  lady  ad- 
dressed tripped  down  the  stone  steps  where  the  foot- 
man was  waiting  to  hand  her  into  the  carriage. 

"  Will  it  reach  the  heart  and  conscience  and 
drive  out  its  ailments  ?"  cjueried  the  hostess. 

The  thin  lips  of  Airs,  Southc}'  parted  slightly 
as  she  threw  back  a  keen  glance  at  the  speaker  in 
the  doorwa3\  Without  apparentl}'^  noticing  it  she 
continued,  "  If  I  thought  it  would  I  would  order  a 
carriage  and  perform  some   long-neglected  duties." 

It  was  a  lovel}'  afternoon,  as  the  senator's  wife 
had  reported,  and  as  Airs.  SoutliC}-  reclined  dream- 
ily in  one  corner  of  the  luxurious  barouche,  a  sen- 
sation, almost  peaceful,  came  stealing  over  her 
while  she  listened  to  the  agreeable  words  of  her 
companion,  and  felt  the  cool  soft  breezes  playing 
about  her.  For  a  while,  at  least,  she  forgot  herself 
with  all  the  attending  perplexities  of  her  situation, 
in  the  musical  clatter  of  the  horses'"  hoofs  on  the 
hard  road.  At  last  she  was  waked  from  her  reveries 
as  from  a  dream,  by  observing  the  carriage  stop  in 
the  street  and  hearing  her  companion  accost  some 
one  outside. 

"  I  am  happy  to  meet  you,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have 
been  so  anxious  about  j^our  patient.  How  is  he 
getting  along  ?" 

"  Slowly  improving,"  came  back  the  answer. 

^^  Good  Jicarens!  That  voice P''  How  the  guilty 
woman  trembled  !     It  was  that  of  her  onl}^  daugh- 


FLIGHT   OF   THE   SOUTHERN   SPY.  311 

ter — her  Ivilliau  !  Did  she  loug  to  clasp  again 
that  form,  once  so  beloved,  in  her  maternal  em- 
brace ?  Why  did  her  cheeks  and  lips  suddenly 
become  chill  and  pallid  ?  Why  should  every 
nerve  quiver  as  she  sat  there  mute  with  a  palsy- 
ing fear?  Ah,  she  well  knew  that  a  pair  of  large 
dark  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her,  reading  the 
emotions  of  her  very  soul,  avoid  them  as  she 
would  !  In  vain  did  she  endeavor  to  adjust  her 
veil,  which  was  thoughtlessly  thrown  back  from 
her  face  in  her  dream  of  peace  ;  but  it  become  en- 
tangled with  the  trimmings  of  her  bonnet,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  disengage  it.  With  a  sensation 
of  despair  she  settled  back  as  far  as  possible  among 
the  shadows  and  painfully  waited  for  the  issue. 

"Then  you  will  come  to-morrow?"  she  heard 
Lillian  say.  "  I  want  much  to  see  3^ou  for  more 
than  one  reason." 

"  I  think  I  will  not  fail,"  was  the  cheerful 
answer. 

"  Then  I  will  tell  him.  The  prospect,  I  am 
sure,  will  speed  his  convalescence." 

The  carriage  moved  on.  The  crouching  figure 
straightened  a  little  for  a  freer  breath. 

"  Did  you  see  those  beautiful  eyes?"  asked  her 
companion  turning  towards  her.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon  !"  was  the  impulsive  exclamation  as  she 
looked  into  the  face  beside  her.  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  kept  you  out  so  long.  You  lool^  as  though 
you  were  chilled  through  ;  we  will  return  imme- 
diately !" 

"  O,  no  !  I  am  not  cold  !  A  sudden— dizziness 
I  think— must  have  come  over  me  !  Do  not  re- 
turn ;  indeed — I  am  not  cold — the  ride  is  exceed- 
ingly pleasant !     Let  us  go  on." 


ol2  THE    MISTRESS   OE    ROSEDALE. 

Her  listener  was  surprised.  Never  had  she  seen 
the  aristocratic  Mrs.  Southe}'  so  beside  herself. 
Her  words  and  manner  perplexed  her,  still  she 
made  no  re  pi  3'. 

"  The  young  lady — who  was  she  ?  Her  eyes  ? 
O,  yes !  They  were  ver}-  fine!  I  think  I  must 
have  seen  her  before!'' 

"  At  the  hospital  then/'  was  the  reply  ;  ''  for  she 
seldom  goes  out.  I  must  tell  3-ou  about  her.  She 
has  been  in  Alexandria,  doing  good  service  I  be- 
lie\'e,  and  has  now  come  to  the  cit}-  to  nurse  her 
husband,  who  is  badl}^  wounded  and  was  brought 
thither  for  better  accommodations,  as  he  is  an  offi- 
cer in  high  rank  and  is  much  needed  in  the  field." 

"  Her  husband  !"  almost  shrieked  the  miserable 
woman  ;  "  did  j^ou  sa}'  her  husband?''' 

"  Certainl}' !  Wh}^  not  ?  Do  you  know  her  ? 
You  astonish  me  b}^  your  looks  and  appearance ! 
Hnlighten  me,  I  beseech  you,  Airs.  Southe\'  I"  ex- 
claimed the  lad3^ 

The  wretched  woman  tried  to  speak,  but  found 
not  the  power  to  do  so. 

At  last  she  gasped,  "  I  beg  3'our  pardon  !  I  am 
strangel}'  nervous  to-da}-,  I  confess.  It  is  true,  I 
thought  at  first  that  I  had  seen  the  lad}^  some 
3'ears  ago,  but  conclude  I  must  have  been  mista- 
ken or  she  would  have  remembered  me.  The 
mother  of  the  one  she  so  much  resembles  is  a  very 
dear  friend  of  mine  and  her  marriage  was  clandes- 
tine and  seriousl3^  against  her  parents'  wishes.  I 
knew  that  the  news  of  their  re-union  would  greatl3' 
distress  them,  and  so  allowed  m3^  S3^mpathies  to  run 
awa3^  with  me  and  frighten  3'ou.  You  will  pardon 
me  ?"  she  interrogated,  beseechingly,  as  she  laid 
her  hand  on  her  companion's  arm. 


"Did  vou  sav  her  husband?" 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    SOUTHERN    SPY.  313 

"  Certainly.  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  agitation  ! 
But  really,  I  think  your  friend  ought  not  to  dis- 
tress herself  about  her  daughter's  choice  were  it 
so.  Colonel  Hamilton  is  one  of  our  noblest  and 
most  heroic  officers,  and  it  is  now  being  whispered 
in  military  circles  that  as  soon  as  he  is  recovered 
his  promotion  will  be  speed}'  to  the  rank  of  briga- 
dier, whether  he  is  ever  able  to  occup}-  it  or  not. 
I  wish  you  would  go  with  me  to-morrow  and  see 
him.  He  is  certainly  one  of  the  finest  looking 
men  I  ever  saw  !" 

Mrs.  Southey,  however,  declined  the  honor. 
She  was  "  too  weak  and  sensitive  to  endure  excite- 
ment," as  she  had  given  abundant  proof  during 
the  last  hour. 

It  was  true,  and  the  lady  accepted  the  refusal 
gracefully.  "  Sometime  ^-ou  must  tell  me  more 
about  this  colonel's  wife  in  whom  we  both  are  so 
much  interested,  will  you  ?"  she  asked,  as  they 
reached  the  street  where  was  Mrs.  Southey 's 
temporary  home. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  keep  you  informed  as  to 
his  recovery,  and  will  call  as  soon  as  joossible  after 
my  next  visit  to  the  hospital." 

"  Thank  you  !"  and  so  they  parted. 

How  little  either  knew  of  the  emotions  or  con- 
victions of  the  other  !  What  a  long  catalogue  of 
ills  were  being  chronicled  in  the  inner  chamber  of 
the  guilty  soul !  It  was  a  slight  peep  the  pene- 
trating eyes  caught  through  the  partially  opened 
door  ere  the  power  of  self-control  returned  to  close 
it,  but  no  sophistry  could  dispose  of  the  horrors 
thus  revealed  !  When  again  in  her  room  she 
dropped  into  an  easy  chair  evidently  exhausted. 


ni-t  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

''  Your  ride  must  have  been  wearisome/'  sug- 
frested  her  hostess.  "  You  do  not  look  as  well  as 
when  3^ou  went  out,"  she  continued,  carelessly-, 
raising  her  e3^es  from  the  paper  she  had  in  her 
hand. 

"  I  am  not  well,"  was  the  prompt  repl}^ 

"  Have  3'ou  been  driven  under  a  halter  ?  One 
would  imagine  that  justice  had  been  close  upon 
3^ou  ;"  and  she  turned  the  page  with  perfect  saug 
fro  id. 

"  Be  merciful,  I  beseech  you  !"  was  the  plaintive 
wail  of  her  companion.  "  I  will  tell  you  all !  I 
have  not  been  chased  by  justice  as  3^ou  intimate, 
but  what  is  worse — I  have  seen  Lillian  and  she 
has  seen  me !  The  carriage  stopped  while  the  two 
friends  talked,  and  all  the  time  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  my  uncovered  face  ;  and  to-morrow  they  meet 
at  the  hospital!  I  know  my  uncontrolable  agita- 
tion has  betra^-ed  much,  and  there  is  little  doubt 
but  she  will  finish  what  I  have  so  ignobly  begun. 
Beside  this  my  daughter  has  found  her  husband, 
who  is  none  other  than  the  Colonel  Hamilton  of 
whom  so  much  has  been  said  of  late !  Of  course 
he  will  aid  her  in  performing  what  she  would 
never  have  the  strength  to  accompliih  herself!" 
The  head  of  the  wretched  mother  sank  upon  her 
hand,  while  her  whole  frame  shook  with  emotion. 
Her  companion  had  risen  and  now  stood  before 
her. 

"  The  time  has  come  when  3'ou  must  leave  !" 
she  said  with  a  tone  as  ringing  and  metallic  as  the 
clinking  of  steel  when  rudeU^  smiting  its  fellow. 
"  I  have  the  arrangements  all  made,  expecting  it 
would  come  to  this,  for,  as  3^ou  are  well  aware,  it 
would  not  be  ver3'  comfortable  for  the  innocent  to 


FLIGHT   OF   THE    SOUTHERN    SPY.  315 

be  found  in  such  bad  compau}' !"  The  tall  figure 
became  erect  as  her  keen  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
face  of  the  speaker,  while  she  continued :  "Send 
your  usual  message  and  add  in  postscript  a  com- 
mand to  get  that  horse  read}-  as  ordered  and 
brought  around  at  eleven  to  the  spot  designated. 
I  have  a  suit  prepared,  and  at  about  ten  miles 
there  is  a  friend  who  will  grant  3'ou  a  retreat  for 
the  present.  I  can  send  3'ou  word  when  you  must 
fly  farther.  Now  I  will  leave  j-ou,  for  it  is  nearly 
six  and  the  order  must  be  written  immediately!"' 

Alone  !  What  dismal  horrors  haunt  the  guilt}/ 
mind  when  let  loose  upon  itself !  A  spy !  And 
in  the  enem^-'s  country,  hemmed  in  b}/  the  barriers 
of  war  with  no  way  of  escape  to  a  land  of  safety, 
if  such  a  place  could  be  found  !  A  rebel !  And 
truth  all  ready  to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  offended 
justice  "  behold  the  traitor!" 

"Where  is  my  strength?  My  pride?"  she 
murmured,  as  she  arose  and  walked  across  the 
room.  "How  I  tremble!  The  gallows!  W^hat 
a  reward  for  ni}-  persevering  and  arduous  labors  I 
I  understand  it !" 

Then  her  mind  wandered  to  the  story  of  a  Ger- 
man monarch  who  caused  the  executioner  to  blow 
his  death-blast  before  the  door  of  his  brother's 
palace.  "  Ah,  you  tremble,"  said  the  king,  "  when 
the  prospect  of  temporal  death  is  so  near  ;  but  look 
a  little  farther  and  behold  the  eternal  pangs  of  the 
soul!  How  now?  Does  the  sight  apall  thee? 
Go  to  thy  home,  my  brother,  the  king  desires  not 
thy  life  ;  but  remember  the  errors  of  a  temporal 
death  and  shun  the  horrors  of  the  second  !" 

"If  I  had  done  this!  O,  Lillian,  Lillian  my 
child  !     You  cannot  see  3'our  mother  at  this  hour, 


31(5       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

and  it  is  well  !     The  first — yes  the  second  death  is 
for  such  as  I ! 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing  !"  she  exclaimed 
aloud  at  last  as  she  reseated  herself  by  the  window. 
''  The  horse  perish  with  its  rider  !  I  want  neither ; 
I  swear  it !  This  hateful  business  stops  here  !  O 
wretched,  wretched  woman  that  I  am  !  Who  shall 
deliver  me  from  the  bod}^  of  this  death  ?  Was  not 
that  in  the  Bible?  Ah,  I  remember!  The  voice 
that  has  been  silent  for  man}-  3'ears  once  repeated 
those  words  in  ni}'  hearing  when  his  hour  had 
come.  The  Bible!  I  will  go  to  Philadelphia. 
Mrs.  Cheevers  will  not  turn  me  from  her  door  for 
— for — she  is  a  Christian  !  Pride  ?  Awa}-  with  it ! 
O  the  curse  of  a  false  ambition  !" 

The  shadows  of  twilight  fell  noiselessl}-  about 
her,  spreading  over  the  bent  figure  a  pall  of  tender 
S3-mpathy.  Then  she  arose,  lighted  the  gas  and 
hurriedly  threw  into  her  trunks  the  plain,  rich 
wardrobe  of  the  elegant  "  English  lad}-,"  and  lock- 
ing them  prepared  to  go  out.  She  had  remembered 
that  the  northern  train  left  the  depot  at  eight,  and 
she  was  going  upon  it !  She  passed  out  without 
interruption,  and  in  a  half  hour  the  dra3man  was 
standino-  iu  the  hall  ready  to  be  shown  where  the 
trunks  were  waiting.  ''  This  wa}-,"  called  ]\Irs. 
Southey  ;  "  you  M'ill  need  help  for  the}-  are  large." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  the  lady  of  the 
house  with  great  astonishment,  opening  the  parlor 
door.  "  Surel}'  vou  are  not  going  to  tear  j^ourself 
away  so  abruptly  ?  How  lonel}^  I  shall  be  without 
my  aristocratic  English  guest!  But  do  tell  me, 
where  are  you  going?" 

"  Out  of  death  unto  life,"  was  the  quick  reply. 
"This   way!     Do   not  mar  the  railing;"  and  the 


FLIGHT   OF  THE   SOUTHERN   SPY.  317 

two  meu  passed  on  with  the  last  trunk.  "  Forty 
minutes  before  train  time,  I  believe  ?"  she  interro- 
gated as  she  stepped  forward  to  close  the  door. 
"  Yes,  madam ;"  and  she  turned  to  the  bewildered 
woman  who  was  silently  gazing  at  her. 

''Well,  I  am  going,"  she  said  calmly;  "it  mat- 
ters not  to  you  where,  but  remember  this !  If 
there  is  a  path  for  such  as  I  back  to  womanhood  I 
am  determined  to  find  it!"  A  cynical  laugh  was 
her  only  response.  "  Nevertheless,  it  is  true  !  The 
miseries  of  the  last  few  days  have  completed  the 
grave  into  which  I  have  cast  my  pride  and  ambit- 
ions ;  would  that  the  bitter  memories  of  the  past 
could  be  buried  with  them !  But  I  must  go. 
Farewell — do  not  wait  to  attempt  your  own  rescue 
until  the  quicksands  have  swallowed  3-ou  up ; 
again  farewell  !" 

Her  companion  did  not  speak,  but  turned  coldly 
away,  while  Mrs.  Belmont,  with  a  heart  lighter 
than  it  had  been  for  many  months,  tripped  down 
the  steps.  New  resolutions  had  taken  possession 
of  her  soul,  and  with  them  had  entered  a  ray  of 
cheering  light.  The  door  had  been  thrown  ajar 
for  the  spirit  of  penitence,  but  how  dark  the  long 
closed  chamber  appeared,  how  ghostly  the  spectral 
memories  that  crouched  among  its  shadows !  The 
"  broken  and  contrite  heart  "  had  not  as  yet  opened 
the  windows  to  the  glories  of  the  noonday  sun  of 
righteousness ;  and  the  door  was  reclosed,  and 
upon  the  outside  the  new  resolves  were  laid  with 
trembling  hands.  She  was  Mrs.  Belmont  again — 
the  mistress  of  Rosedale,  and  nevermore  would 
she  stoop  to  fraud  or  ignominy  !  Her  daughter 
would  come  to  her  and  ask  for  the  mother-love  her 
disobedience  had  forfeited,  and  she  would  humbly 


:u8 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


grant  it!  Colonel  Hamilton  was  not  one  to  be 
ashamed  of;  and  then  the  dark  night  at  the  sea- 
shore, the  cry  of  the  abducted  Lily  rolled  its  bur- 
den of  remorse  close  where  the  the  new  resolutions 
were  Tving,  and  she  trembled  as  the  engine 
whistled  its  frightful  alarm — something  was  on 
the  track  !  "  O  God  !  Wliat  if  Th^^  anger  should 
fall  upon  me,  where  O  where  shall  the  sinner  ap- 
pear?'' Inirst  from  her  lips  as  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  shouted  the  brakeman  at 
last  ;  "  tlie  track  is  clear."  And  with  folded  hands 
she  rode  on  breathing  freely  once  more. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A    NIGHT    UPON    THE    BILLOWS. 

How  the  circumstances  of  life  throw  us  about ! 
Now,  upon  the  revolving  wheel,  we  are  raised  high 
above  our  fellows,  where,  from  our  dizzy  elevation, 
we  look  about  us  with  a  sense  of  giddiness  lest 
we  fall ;  then  with  sudden  revolution  we  descend 
while  those  upon  the  low  grounds  are  carried  up. 
Change !   Change ! 

Our  little  circle  of  actors  in  the  present  drama 
were  on  the  "  wheel,"  but  not  one  experienced  more 
disagreeable  sensations  in  its  turnings  than  did 
Mrs.  Belmont,  the  once  haughty  mistress  of  Rose- 
dale.  Hers  was  not  alone  in  the  experience  of  exter- 
nal disagreeables;  but  in  her  soul,  where  the  con- 
tinual revolvings  of  the  corresponding  whirlings 
of  good  resolutions  and  evil  passions,  which  the 
hand  of  avarice  was  turning.  Poor  soul ;  with 
only  such  a  power  to  govern  its  weal  or  woe ! 

Mrs.  Gaylord  lingered  about  the  maelstrom 
where  her  darling  had  disappeared  from  sight 
many  weeks,  loth  to  believe  that  she  would  not  rise 
again  to  bless  and  cheer  her  loneliness.  "  She  was 
so  like  me,"  she  would  repeat  over  and  over  again; 
"  the  same  restless  ambitions,  the  same  longings 
after  something  her  hand  could  never  reach!  And 
now  she  is  gone  !  I  could  bear  it  if  the  beautiful 
casket,  emptied  of  its  treasure  had  been  left  for  my 

319 


320  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

stricken  heart  to  cherish  and  lay  away  in  its  bed 
of  flowers  under  the  green  grass;  bnt  to  lose  all 
but  the  niemor}^  of  her  uncertain  fate  !  This  is 
the  darkest  cloud  of  all.  Then  what  will  Willie, 
the  poor  struggling  cripple,  say?  How  shall  I 
ever  meet  him." 

The  shadows  deepened  in  the  home  of  the  St. 
Clairs,  and  none  rejoiced  more  when  the  husband 
bore  his  weeping  wife  back  to  her  A'irginia  life 
than  did  the  sympathizing  ]\Irs.  Mason.  "It  was 
dreadful,"  she  said  to  her  mother,  after  the  good- 
bj-es  were  over  ;  "  but  as  we  could  not  help  it  it 
became  a  trifle  monotonous, — this  petting  and 
soothing." 

"Well,  as  for  me,  I  would  give  a  prett}^  large 
sum  to  know  the  whole  of  that  transaction,"  re- 
marked Air.  St.  Clair,  one  da}-  as  the  whole  matter 
was  being  talked  over.  "  There  is  a  wheel  within 
a  wheel  or  I  am  mistaken.  These  old  e3''es  are  not 
so  ver}'  blind  when  the}-  have  their  spectacles  on," 

"  I  do  wish  3'ou  would  never  again  throw  out  one 
of  your  wild  and  foolish  '  perhaps  so's  !  "  exclaimed 
the  wife  pettishl3^  "  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
your  cousin  should  bring  you  before  the  courts  for 
slander." 

The  husband  threw  up  his  broad  hands  high 
above  his  head  while  a  merr}^  peal  of  laughter 
rang    through  the  apartment. 

"  Onl}' to  think,  wife  !  Slander!  I  tell  3'ou  there 
are  chaj^ters  in  that  woman's  life  that  she  would 
not  like  to  have  me  or  any  one  else  be  fumbling 
over,  and  there  is  not  much  danger  that  she  will 
ever  turn  the  leaves  for  my  especial  benefit." 

"  You  are  too  bad;  the  mother  of  Lillian  Belmont 
ought  to  be  above  such  insinuations, ]\Ir.  St.  Clair!" 


A    NIGHT    UPON    THK    BILLOWS.  ')21 

"  That  is  a  fact,  but  slie  is  not,  and  there  is 
where  the  too  bad  comes  in;  "  and  the  merry  laugh 
again  resounded. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  reached  her  home  in  safety.  It 
was  a  fine  old  residence,  standing  back  from  the 
highway,  nearl}'  hidden  from  the  passerby  because 
of  the  large  wide-spreading  trees  with  which  it  was 
surrounded ;  yet  the  broadh'-paved  walks  that 
branched  off  in  ever}^  direction  as  they  wound 
around  among  the  cool  shadows  of  the  overhang- 
ing branches  were  delightfully  inviting  to  the 
weary  traveler  who  looked  in  upon  them.  The 
mistress  of  that  pleasant  retreat  now,  however, 
walked  with  languid  step  up  the  winding  path  to 
the  house  with  a  heavy  heart.  The  darker  shades 
of  an  overhanging  gloom  oppressed  her.  On  the 
portico  the  servants  were  collected  to  give  her  wel- 
coiue,  and  as  she  took  the  tawny  hand  of  each 
in  her  own,  said,  "  You  too  will  miss  j^our  young 
mistress.  You  loved  her,  Jenn}^ — she  will  make 
no  more  turbans  for  you,  Phebe — and  poor  little 
Pegs  !  who  will  fix  his  kite  or  teach  him  how  to 
spin  his  top  ?" 

"  Whar  is  she  Missus  ?"  asked  Phebe,  with  the 
great  tears  rolling  down  her  ebony  cheeks,  and 
several  other  voices  chimed  in  "  Dar — dar — Missus, 
whar  is  she  ?  " 

"  Dead  !  Swallowed  up  by  the  big  sea,  and  we 
shall  see  her  no  more!"  She  passed  on,  for  Mr. 
Gaylord  had  taken  her  arm  and  was  leading  her 
into  the  long  drawing-room,  where  he  bade  her  stop 
her  prating   and   making  a  simpleton  of  herself. 

"  It  might  as  well  be  she  as  any  one,"  he  con- 
tinued, noticing  the  look  of  distress  on  the  pale 
face ;  "  Seldom  could  there  be  found  a  young  lady 


322  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE, 

of  lier  attractions  who  would  break  fewer  hearts 
by  disappearing  than  would  she.  But  I  am  sorry 
for  you.  There  was  a  little  more  color  in  3^our 
face,  and  a  slight  return  of  the  former  sprightli- 
ness  in  your  manner  while  she  w^as  with  you.  But 
she  is  gone,  Mrs.  Gaylord,  and  what  is  use  the  of 
throwing  miser}'  over  every  one  who  crosses  your 
path  because  of  it  ?  If  you  must  pine  away  the 
few  attractions  you  have  left  out  of  your  life,  why, 
do  it  silently  and  alone.'' 

Her  tears  ceased  at  the  commencement  of  this  lit- 
tle sympathetic  (?)  sj)eech  and  she  now  stood  before 
her  husband  cold  and  chilling.  Servants  came  and 
went  with  little  acts  of  attention  and  considerable 
bustle  of  ceremony,  yet,  with  her  arm  resting  upon 
the  marble  mantel,  she  moved  not,  for  her  thoughts 
had  driven  away  her  weariness.  A  visitor  was 
announced  and  she  turned  to  see  that  her  husband 
had  seated  himself  by  the  window  with  his  paper, 
and  was  deep  in  the  perplexing  problems  it  had 
brought  to  him. 

"War!  War!  "  Its  columns  were  full.  Prepar- 
ations were  going  on  everywhere.  Calls  were 
made  for  every  lover  of  his  country  and  home  to 
see  to  it  that  his  powers,  of  whatever  sort,  were  im- 
mediately put  in  working  order.  He  yawned  as 
he  turned  to  the  last  page,  and  looked  up  as  if  sup- 
posing his  lady  ^vas  still  present,  and  he  had 
something  to  say  to  her,  but  he  was  alone.  "AVell," 
he  said,  between  the  snatches  of  a  military  air 
which  he  was  whistling;  "I  must  away.  'The 
bugle  sounds  to  arms,  to  arms,'  "  and  Fred  Gay- 
lord  can  as  well  be  spared  from  the  loving  em- 
braces of  his  adorable  spouse  as  any  one.  Heigho  ! 
"  The  eclios  are   ringing  alarms,  alarms."     Hello, 


A    NIGHT   UPON   THE   BILLOWS,  323 

my  good  fellow!  "  Nero,  come  and  greet  your  mas- 
ter," and  the  huge  mastiff  walked  boldlj^  in 
through  the  open  window,  and  with  many  demon- 
strations of  pleasure  licked  the  hand  that  caressed 
him. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Gaylord,"  he  said  the  next  morning 
as  they  were  sitting  at  the  breakfast  table,  "  in  a 
week  I  shall  go  to  Richmond  !" 

"  To  join  the  army  ?" 

"  Well — no  !  I  cannot  say  as  I  have  an}^  par- 
ticular desire  to  set  up  this  six  feet  of  flesh  and 
bones  as  a  target  for  designing  men  to  shoot  at ! 
It  wouldn't  be  comfortable,  you  knoM- !  Besides,  I 
can  do  a  better  thing  for  my  countr}-.  Mine  is  to 
plan,  advise  and  superintend.  There  will  be  plenty 
of  this  work  to  do,  and  you  will  get  along  ver}' 
well  without  me."  He  arose  and  sauntered  out 
into  the  open  air,  whistling  as  he  went  "  the  girl  I 
left  behind  me."  The  wife  watched  the  manly 
figure  until  it  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

"Not  much  nobility  in  the  character  of  a 
coward,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  after  him. 
"Our  grandest  and  noblest  men  in  the  South,  as 
well  as  in  the  North,  will  enter  the  field  of  battle 
and — yes,  will  die  and  be  buried  !  Hearts  will 
ache  and  homes  will  be  saddened,  and  the  great 
wheel  of  destiny  wall  keep  on  turning  just  as  if 
nothing  unusual  was  happening !  Lives  are  being 
continually  thrown  upon  it,  and  as  rapidl}^  hurled' 
by  its  flying  motion  into  darkness — into  forgetful- 
ness  !  Where  is  it?  Where  do  the^^  go?  Where 
is  Lily  ?  That  soul  so  full  of  longings,  of  ambit- 
ions, of  unbounded  faiths,  hopes  and  shadowy  de- 
sires, real  to  itself  but  mysterious  to  the  unitiated? 
Surely  such  a  being  has  not  been  cast  away  among 


324  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

tlie  rubbish  of  past  ages  as  worthless,  to  find  in 
the  darkness  the  end  of  all  these  ?  No  !  no  !  She 
was  right !  There  is  something  in  these  com- 
pounds of  humanity  that  are  not  easily  satisfied 
and  cannot  readily  be  extinguished.  My  own 
wild,  restless  cravings  tell  me  this !  Why  should 
this  '  hungering  and  thirsting  '  be  given  me  if  there 
was  nothing  with  which  to  satisfy  it  ?  I  once 
foolishly  imagined  that  wealth  and  position  would 
do  this,  but  I  starve  with  it  all  !  I  have  said  in 
my  heart,  '  eat,  drink,  and  be  merr}^  ;  get  the 
brightest  things  out  of  life  that  are  possible,  for 
the  end  ccMueth.'  O  Lil}',  my  child!  How  much 
I  need  you  !  The  shadows  were  lifting — there  was 
a  faint  light  in  the  east,  the  glimmering  of  a  new 
day;  but  the  darkness  has  set  in  again,  the  night 
is  not  ended!"  She  was  listlessl}^  walking  up  and 
down  the  elegant  parlors  as  these  thoughts  ran 
through  her  mind. 

Weeks  passed.  ]\Ir.  Gaylord  had  long  been 
away,  swallowed  up  in  the  excitements  and  business 
of  war,  and  she  seldom  heard  from  him ;  still  she 
had  no  fears,  for  he  was  only  "  planning,  engineer- 
ing and  advising  !"  This  was  safe  business  surely  ! 
The  grand  old  house  had  been  filled  with  friends 
and  relatives  who  had  fled  from  the  immediate 
scenes  of  action  to  take  refuge  out  of  harm's  way  ; 
still  when  the  hot  July  days  were  come  with  their 
enervating  oppressiveness  Mrs.  Ga^dord  thought 
of  the  quiet  village  inn  at  the  north  where  she 
had  first  met  her  Lily,  and  her  heart  pined  for  its 
cooling  shades  once  more.  But  the  husband  had 
said  she  must  not  attempt  to  go  into  the  enemy's 
countr}^  or  she  would  be  taken  for  a  sp}'. 


A    NIGHT    UPON    THE    BILLOWS.  325 

"  However,"  she  thought  one  day,  "  I  will  write 
to  Mr.  Bancroft  and  hear  about  Willie  ;  this  will 
do  me  a  little  good  at  least."  She  did  write.  The 
tumults  of  war  increased.  The  reports  of  conflicts 
were  heard  eve rj^ where  !  The  dark  wave  was  roll- 
ing up  from  the  far  south  and  threatening  to 
sweep  over  the  boundary  lines  east  and  west, 
scorching  and  destroying  everything  in  its  pro- 
gress. Mrs.  Gaylord  watched  its  coming  with  a 
great  fear  stirring  her  whole  being.  What  would 
become  of  them  ?  Then  there  came  an  answer  to 
her  letter.  How  greedily  she  broke  the  seal ;  how 
her  heart  bounded  as  she  unfolded  the  well-filled 
sheet ! 

"  How  glad  I  was  to  hear  from  you,"  it  began. 
"  I  did  not  know  but  you  had  been  lost  in  the  ter- 
rible fire!  How  it  rages!  Where  will  it  end? 
When  the  passions  of  men  become  aroused  Justice 
and  Mercy  must  fold  their  arms  and  wait.  But, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Gaylord,  cruelties,  wrong  dealings, 
abominations  are  not  confined  to  war  or  kept 
within  the  machinations  of  my  own  sex.  You 
speak  of  your  loss  and  loneliness — come  to  us. 
You  will  be  happier  here,  and  a  great  problem 
still  unsolved  requires  your  aid.  Next  week  a 
friend  of  mine  will  go  to  Washington  for  a  few 
days  only  ;  now  if  you  can  get  through  Baltimore 
meet  him  there  and  he  will  conduct  you  safely  to 
my  home.  I  will  see  him  to-day  and  write  the 
particulars  to-morrow.  Willie  is  not  with  me  just 
now,  there  being  greater  attractions  elsewhere. 
All  will  be  explained  when  you  are  with  us.  It  is 
best  that  you  should  follow  out  my  suggestions. 
I  should  have  written  you  many  weeks  ago  if  I 
had  not  heard  that  you  were  not  at  home,  and  it 


o26  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALK. 

was    ver}'    uncertain    whether  a  letter  would  find 
you  in  these  troublesome  times." 

"  How  strangel}'  he  writes,"  she  thought,  as  the 
paper  dropped  from  her  hand.  "  A  problem  !  He 
had  heard  I  was  not  at  home  ;  who  told  him  ? 
W'h}-  am  I  needed  to  help  solve  the  problem  ? 
There  is  a  m3'ster3'  in  all  this  !  It  is  not  like  him. 
I  must — 3^es,  I  will  go  !  Air.  Gajdord's  brother's 
widow,  who  must  remain  here  with  her  famil}^ 
should  do  all  that  I  could,  and  I  must  go  !"  How 
restlessly  she  tossed  upon  her  pillcAv  that  night ! 
The  problem!  The  mystery!  Mr.  Gaylord  might 
not  like  it ;  he  had  told  her  to  remain  where  she 
was  ;  but  something  within  bade  her  go.  Another 
letter  came,  as  was  expected.  There  Mas  much 
advise,  counsel  and  many  directions,  and  then  it 
said:  "I  will  just  add  for  3-our  perusal  a  short 
preface  to  a  most  exciting  stor3'.  It  may  be  that 
the  interest  it  will  awaken  will  have  more  power 
to  draw  3-ou  than  anything  I  can  say  by  wa3^  of 
persuasion.  You  know  that  there  is  an  assurance 
somewhere  that  'the  sea  shall  give  up  its  dead,' 
and  that  we  '  shall  meet  our  loved  ones,'  etc. 
These  are,  without  doubt,  true,  for  we  have  many 
a  foretaste  of  the  good  things  to  come  even  here. 
One  to  the  point  is  fresh  before  me.  More  than 
two  mouths  ago  Willie  received  a  letter  from  over 
the  ocean  that  the  good  ship  Constitution  had 
picked  up  from  off  the  dark  billows  a  floating  waif 
alone  in  an  open  boat  somewliere  along  the  south- 
ern shore,  and  as  the3'  were  bound  for  Liverpool 
had  no  alternative  but  to  take  their  prize  with 
them.  They  did  so  and  it  was  then  l3'ing  in  a 
hospital  ver3^  sick,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  time 
delirious.     The  physicians,  however,  had  prophe- 


A    NIGHT    UPON    THE    BILLOWS.  827 

sied  a  speedy  recovery  when  the  crisis  was  passed, 
and  as  they  had  succeeded  in  learning  the  address 
of  the  one  about  whom  she  had  talked  almost  in- 
cessantly, concluded  to  write  to  him.  '  Be  not 
alarmed  '  it  went  on  to  say,  '  for  it  was  not  strange 
that  such  a  night  on  the  billows  of  a  stormy  sea 
should  have  upset  a  stronger  set  of  nerves,  or  be- 
wildered even  a  more  massive  brain.'  But  she 
would  recover,  and  when  strong  enough  would  be 
brought  back  to  Boston  where  her  home  was,  as 
they  had  gathered  from  her  talk.  Still  it  was  their 
desire  to  hear  immediately  if  a  3'oung  lady  had 
been  missing  from  those  parts  ;  a  ]\Iiss  '  Lily  Gay- 
lord ',  the  name  found  on  the  clothing." 

"  My  Lily  !"  almost  shrieked  the  excited  woman 
unable  to  read  farther.  "  Preserved  again  !  "What 
a  wonderful  power  is  holding  her !  But  how  did 
she  come  on  the  sea  ?  This  is  the  problem — O, 
who  can  solve  it  ?"  Her  burning  eyes  again  fell 
upon  the  paper. 

"  And  now  she  is  with  Willie  in  their  old  home. 
I  was  there  a  few  days  ago  and  found  her  very 
pale  and  thin.  I  told  her  I  was  going  to  insist 
that  you  should  come  north,  when  her  dark  eyes 
brightened  and  she  said,  '  O  do  !'  Her  story  told 
Willie  is  a  strange  one ;  more  v/onderful  than  fic- 
tion. But  you  will  come  now,  and  so  I  will  re- 
serve the  rest  until  your  arrival." 

Did  she  go  ?  How  laggard  were  the  da3^s  that 
intervened  between  the  receipt  of  this  letter  and 
the  "  next  Thursday  week  "  when  she  M^as  to  meet 
Mr.  Bancroft's  friend  in  Washington.  Then  she 
thought  it  all  over.  The  strange  incidents  con- 
cerning the  disappearance  of  her  darling ;  the  sus- 
picions  so   abruptly   spoken   by  Mr.   St.  Clair  on 


o28  THE   MI.STRESS   OF    ROSKDALE. 

that  sad  evening !  True,  he  was  excited  and 
might  have  said  wliat  he  did  not  feel ;  but  Mrs. 
Belmont's  unsatisfactory  explanations  as  to  why 
she  should  be  out  in.  such  a  place,  at  such  a  time, 
with  no  other  attendant  than  a  cowardl}-  servant, 
was  all  such  a  m^^Uery  !  Why  should  that  lady 
wish  to  injure  the  child?  Had  she  not  said  on 
several  occasions  that  slie  "  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  the  dear  girl  ?"  Yes,  several  times  !  And  this 
was  nothing  strange;  ever^djody  admired  her! 
Certainl}^  she  had  done  nothing  to  the  mistress  of 
Rosedale  to  excite  in  her  a  desire  to  do  her  harm ! 
It  could  not  be !  The  more  she  thought  it  over, 
the  more  she  recalled  half- forgotten  looks  and 
words,  the  more  was  she  perplexed, 

"I  will  wait,"  she  tliought  at  last;  "perhaps 
Lily  can  throw  a  little  light  upon  the  transaction. 
Whatever  were  the  designs  of  Mrs.  Belmoit,  Lil}' 
is  safe!  IMore  than  ever  now  will  she  belijvc  that 
a  mighty  hand  kept  her  above  the  dark  Ijillows  ! 
Twice  has  she  ridden  alone  and  ungui  k-d  upon 
them,  yet  she  did  not  siiik  !  The  picture  in  the 
old  Bible  in  the  library,  which  I  have  pondered  so 
many  times,  seems  to  impress  itself  now  upon  my 
soul.  Like  Peter,  Jesus  must  have  walked  l^eside 
her,  upheld  and  guided  the  frail  boat  with  its 
precious  freight  ;  and  it  may  be — it  may  be  He 
spoke  to  the  angr}^  deep  '  peace,  be  still  '  !  I  wish 
I  believed  it  alb  How  cheering  it  must  be — such 
faith  I  mean — to  the  lone  mariner  on  the  dark  bil- 
lows of  life  to  be  cared  for  by  one  who  can  do 
these  things  !  Hush  the  storms  and  command 
the  waves  and  they  obe\^  Him  !  I  think  I  should 
not  toss  about  in  my  little  boat  as  hopelessl}^,  or 
shudder  with  such  fear  as  I  look  out  over  the  dark 


A   NIGHT    UPON   THE   BILLOWS.  329 

waters  that  are  rolling  about  me,  if  this  faith  were 
mine.  O  Lily  !  So  like  me,  yet  so  far  removed, 
with  the  great  God  of  heaven  for  your  father,  and 
the  Saviour  for  your  friend  and  protector  !  I  will 
know  more  of  this  !  I  am  disappointed,  hungry 
and  thirsty.  The  waters  are  deep ;  the  waves 
dash  upon  my  frail  bark  !" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   SHADOWS   AS   THEY  FLY. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  arrived  safely  in  Boston,  after  a 
very  wearisome  journey  and  was  met  by  Mr.  Ban- 
croft with  many  demonstrations  of  delight. 

"  It  will  please  Willie  so  much,"  he  said,  after 
it  was  well  over,  by  way  of  apology.  "That  gen- 
tle little  cripple  of  yours,  Mrs.  Gaylord,"  he  con- 
tinued, "has  taken  a  long  hitch  into  my  affections, 
and  it  does  me  good  to  gratify  his  whims." 

"  They  are  together,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  out  on  the  farm.  I  was  there  last  week 
and  told  them  you  were  coming,  although  I  was 
not  positive  in  the  matter  as  I  would  like  to  have 
been  ;  but  I  guessed  it !  You  know  that  is  our 
Yankee  privilege." 

No  amount  of  persuasion  could  induce  the  lady 
to  remain  in  the  city  for  a  rest ;  she  must  go  at 
once  !  "  What  a  sad  time  poor  Lily  must  have 
had  of  it.     I  am  so  anxious  to  hear  all  about  it !" 

"  Your  curiosity  will  not  gain  any  great  corpu-^ 
lency  by  what  she  can  tell  you,  I  imagine,"  he 
laughed.  "  She  seems  very  reticent  when  touch- 
ing the  supposed  reasons  for  her  ride,  and  it  is  my 
opinion  that  there  was  more  in  the  tender  solici- 
tude of  that  precious  friend  she  found  down  south 
than  was  discernable  to  the  naked  eye  !  '* 

331 


332  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Was  there  ever  an  open  transgression,  or  an 
imaginary  evil  perpetrated  that  a  woman  was  not 
at  the  bottom  of  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Bancroft. made  this 
little  speech  in  the  form  of  an  inquiry  with  a  ver}^ 
smiling  face,  and  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  her 
blue  e3'es.  "  There  is  my  good  husband,  for  in- 
stance, who  declared  this  very  morning  that  if  3'ou 
did  not  come,  it  would  be  because  I  did  not  more 
positively  insist !  Just  as  though  3-ou  did  not 
know  how  much  I  loved  3'ou  3'ears  ago,  and,  al- 
though a  woman,  love  you  still!" 

"But  she  has  come,  wife,"  interposed  the  laugh- 
ing husband,  "  and,  no  doubt,  is  tired  and  hun- 
gr3'.  You  will  wait  until  morning  before  pro- 
ceding  farther?"  he  queried,  turning  to  the  visitor, 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  to,  I  suppose,  for,  if  I  re- 
member correctly,  there  is  but  one  more  train  in 
that  direction  to-night,  and  that  is  at  five,  while  it 
is  nearly  four  now." 

The  following  morning,  on  the  first  train  going 
west  was  Airs.  Ga3'lord,  M-ith  her  dusk3--browed 
companion,  who  seldom  was  apart  from  her  mis- 
tress. Now  the3^  were  going  to  the  little  village 
for  the  third  time,  where  both  had  spent  so  many 
pleasant  da3'S.  "  We  will  take  dinner  there,"  the 
lady  had  said,  "  and  then  I  will  go  for  a  drive  and 
find  Lily." 

Tiny  had  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  were  open 
as  well  as  those  of  her  mistress  ;  and  now  a  smile 
came  and  lingered  around  the  well-formed  mouth. 

3klrs.  Ga3dord  saw  it. 

"  How  do  3'ou  imagine  Miss  Lil3''  came  out  on 
the  ocean  that  dark  night,  Tiny  ?  There  is  that 
at  times  in  3^our  face  which  leads  me  to  think  you 
know  something  about  it." 


THE   SHADOWS   AS   THEY    FLY.  333 

"  O  no,  Missus  ;  Tiny  don't  know  notliin';  she 
'spect  tho',  dat  de  good  Lord  didn't  take  her  dar." 

"  But  He  took  her  off,  Tiny  ?" 

"  Yes,  Missus,  He  duz  that,  but  He  neber  got  no- 
body to  carry  her  dar." 

"  Did  any  one  do  that  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,  but  I'se  see  Missus  Belmont  talk- 
in'  to  a  white  trash  more'n  once,  and  I  'spects 
somthin'." 

"  Who  were  they.  Tiny?" 

"  Could'nt  tell  ;  '  twas  drefful  dark  down  on 
secon'  street,  but  I  know'd  her.  I  went  wid  Cassa 
down  to  see  Pliny,  what  was  sick,  and  she  was  dar 
by  de  carriage  shop  talkin'." 

Perplexities  thickened.  If  she  had  done  this, 
why  was  it  done  ?  There  must  have  been  a  rea- 
son for  such  a  terrible  act ! 

The  whistle  blew,  and  the  train  stopped  at  the 
junction.  Carriages  were  waiting,  and  into  one 
stepped  Mrs.  Gaylord,  followed  by  her  servant. 

"  Ah  !     Glad  to  see  you  at  Kirkham  again." 

The  lady  turned  quickly.  "  O,  it  is  you,  Frank. 
How  warm  you  are  here.  Drive  on,  there  is  a  cool 
breath  waiting  for  me  under  the  maples." 

With  the  sensation  of  unburdening,  Mrs.  Gay- 
lord  went  out  before  dinner  into  the  pleasant  grove 
in  the  rear  of  the  hotel,  where  she  found  the  cool 
breath  waiting.  Here,  at  least,  the  war  could  not 
reach  her  !  The  souu4  of  strife,  of  anger  or  op- 
pression could  not  search  her  out !  The  first  great 
battle  had  been  fought,  and  there  was  mourning  as 
well  as  exultation  in  the  land,  while  the  blood  of 
patriots  was  at  boiling  heat.  Was  it  this  that  op- 
pressed her  ?  Had  she  grieved  at  the  result,  or 
had  her  Southern   tendencies   made   it  joy  ?     She 


3:U  THE  mistrf:ss  of  rosrdai.k. 

asked  herself  this  question  more  than  once  ;  and 
as  she  sat  under  the  shadows  of  the  whispering 
trees,  concluded  that,  let  the  results  be  what  they 
would,  she  loved  the  cool,  unin. passioned  North- 
erners, with  their  independence  and  self-sustaining 
powers.  She  would  wait.  She  had  found  peace  in 
days  gone  b}-  as  she  looked  calnih^  out  over  the 
waste  of  waters  whither  she  was  floating,  and  felt 
no  hard  th robbings  of  the  heart  where  love  was 
dying!  Would  this  peace  come  again?  Not  un- 
til she  had  seen  Liljs  and  the  m3\steriGus  problem 
solved  should  slie  look  for  it.  She  did  not  like  this 
tangling  up  of  broken  threads  ;  indeed,  she  did 
not  want  them  to  break  at  all  ;  but,  since  the}^ 
must,  wli}'  could  they  not  dangle  free  from  each 
other  ? 

Soon  after  dinner,  and  while  the  sun  w^as  still 
hio-h,  the  carriacfe  came  around  for  her 

"  Going  to  see  the  cripple,  Willie  Evans  ?  "  in- 
terrogated the  driver  from  the  box,  with  all  the 
northern  familiarity.  "  His  sister  is  back  again, 
and  a  hard  time  she's  had  of  it ;  so  they  say ;  " 
he  continued,  for  the  lad}^  had  not  answered.  She 
spoke  now. 

"  She  was  with  me,  3'ou  remember,  at  the 
hotel.'' 

"  Ah  !  yes,  ma'am,  I  remember  !  There  is  some- 
thing strange  about  her  adventure,  but  I  dare  say 
it  will   in  time  be  all  explained." 

She  had  not  liked  the  way  the  simple  minded 
man  gave  his  information.  What  if,  after  all,  gos- 
sip, should  burden  her  shoulders  with  the  strange 
rumors.  She  had  not  thought  of  this !  How 
would  she  be    received    at    the  cottage  ?     Would 


THE   SHADOWS   AS   THEY    FLV.  oo.J 

Willie  blame  her  ?     But  Lily  head  told  all !      She 
certainly  would  relieve  her  from  censure.'' 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate  and  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins appeared  in  the  doorway, 

"  Are  the  young  people  at  home  ?"  inquired  the 
lady  without  moving  from  her  seat. 

"  They  have  gone  for  a  short  walk  to  the  lake, 
but  will  be  back  soon,"  was  the  reply.  "  Mrs. 
Gaylord,  I  believe  ?  They  will  be  glad  to  see 
you  !  You  had  better  come  in  and  I  will  send  for 
them." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  the  driver ;  and  Mrs.  Gaylord 
stepped  from  her  carriage  and  entered  the  little 
parlor. 

"  You  will  find  that  the  girl  is  much  changed," 
remarked  Mrs.  Hopkins,  handing  the  lady  a  chair. 
"  She  is  very  thin  and  pale.  She  has  been 
seriously  ill,  and  I  do  not  wonder  !  It  was  dread- 
ful !  Her  being  out  all  night  in  that  terrible 
storm  ;  and  in  an  open  boat  all  alone  !  I  tell  her 
that  she  had  better  stay  where  her  frievds  are 
now,  if  it  is  in  the  lower  walks  of  life  !  She  has 
some  very  foolish  notions  that,  in  my  opinion,  she 
would  be  much  better  without."  Mrs.  Hopkins 
had  taken  a  seat  close  by  the  window,  and  seem- 
ingly was  communing  with  herself  rather  than 
entertaining  her  visitor.  Mrs.  Gaylord  allowed 
her  to  proceed  without  interruption.  "She  is 
poor,  homeless  and  friendless,  and  the  sooner  she 
makes  up  her  mind  to  settle  down  to  these  facts 
and  go  to  work,  the  happier  she  will  be." 

"I  think  you  are  a  little  mistaken  about  her 
poverty,  friendships  or  home,  for  to  my  certain 
knowledge  she  has  all.  At  any  rate  she  can  have 
them  by  the  acceptance." 


:v)<)  THE    ^riSTRESS    OF    ROSED  ALE. 

"  It  seems  that  she  did  accept,  and  3-011  see  how 
it  has  turned  out.  She  couies  back  without  clothes 
or  health  and  ready  to  seek  shelter  in  the  home 
she  once  so  foolishly  left.  Still,"  she  continued, 
as  she  espied  a  flush  of  indignation  svvceping  over 
the  face  of  her  listener,  "  I  have  much  to  thank 
you  for  in  regard  to  ni}^  poor  brother.  He  is  ver}- 
happy  in  being  able  to  earn  his  board  and  provide 
for  his  own  necessities.  It  was  kind  in  you  to  be- 
stow such  happiness  on  a  poor  cripple.  We  had 
never  thought  it  possible  that  he  could  ever  be 
anything  but  a  burden."  The  lady  moved  ner- 
vously. "  Of  coursewe  were  willing  to  take  care  of 
him,  but  it's  so  much  pleasanter  for  one  to  take  care 
of  himself.  I\Ir.  Bancroft  has  seemingly'  taken  a 
great  liking  to  him.  He  was  out  here  last  week 
and  wanted  he  should  hurr}'  through  with  his 
vacation  as  he  was  lonely,  so  he  said.  I  thought 
the  change  would  be  bad  for  him,  but  he  has 
grown  quite  fleshy  and  is  looking  well."  The 
voice  ceased,  for  suddenly  she  had  awakened  to 
the   consciousness   that   she  was  talking  all  alone. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  was  busy  with  her  thoughts. 
This  then  was  the  Fanu}'  of  whom  Lil}'  had  told 
her.  What  wonder  that  her  sensitive  nature  had 
shrank  from  her!  Such  exhibitions  of  a  selfish 
spirit !  It  was  not  strange  the  atmosphere  of  such 
a  home  had  chilled  and  frozen  her  warm,  tender 
affections.  But  it  wa.3  over.  She  should  not  re- 
main a  day  longer  where  such  storms  of  frost  and 
snow  must  continually  pelt  her!  She  was  indig- 
nant. "  Glad  to  get  back  to  the  home  she  had 
left  "  without  friends  or  clothing  !  She  looked  up 
and  saw  a  pair  of  stern  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 


THE   SHADOWS    AS    THEY    FLY.  337 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  wandering  with  my 
thoughts  just  then."  "And  I  was  waiting  for  them 
to  come  back,"  was  the  response.  "  Of  course  you 
will  let  the  girl  remain  now  where  she  rightfully 
belongs  ?  She  can  help  me  and  pay  her  way  if 
she  feels  so  disposed,  and  it's  time  that  she  should. 
If  she  is  let  alone  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  make 
quite  a  woman.  She  wanted  to  see  you  and  I  had 
no  objections ;  but  you  had  better  not  trouble 
yourself  farther  about  her.     Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  can  answer  your  question  better  at  night- 
fall," Mrs.  Gaylord  replied,  ironically.  "  I  shall 
take  them  both  with  me  to  the  hotel  if  they  will 
go,  and  after  talking  the  matter  over  can  conclude 
with  greater  wisdom." 

"  Of  course  the}-  will !  Some  people  are  very 
willing  to  seek  for  aid  when  helpless  and  in 
trouble,  but  have  no  idea  of  returning  the  favors 
received  when  an  opportunity  is  offered  for  them 
to  do  so !" 

The  little  party  were  coming  up  the  garden 
walk  and  Mrs.  Gaylord  arose  to  meet  them.  With 
a  bound  and  a  cry  of  pleasure  Lily  sprang  into 
the  open  arms  ready  to  receive  her. 

"O  Lil}^  Lily,  my  darling!"  exclaimed  the 
sweet  voice,  while  the  lips  that  spoke  these  words 
were  kissing  brow  and  cheek  passionately.  Wil- 
lie was  hitching  himself  over  the  green  grass 
towards  them.  "You  are  changed!  How  very 
sick  you  must  have  been  !"  and  she  held  the  weep- 
ing girl  off  at  arm's  length  that  she  might  look  at 
her.  "  Get  yourself  ready,  as  the  carriage  must 
be  back  to  the  hotel  in  three  hours  and  it  is  nearly 
two  already."  She  stepped  forward  and  clasped 
the  cripple's  extended  hand.     "  It  makes  me  more 


338  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

happ3^  tliaii  I  can  tell  to  meet  3-011  both  again. 
Yon  will  go  with  ns  ?  I  so  pine  for  one  of  our  old 
talks  duplicated.  Frank,  help  Willie  to  the  car- 
riage." And  she  turned  to  lind  that  Lily  had 
disappeared,  and  in  her  place  stood  the  veritable 
Airs.  Hopkins. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  think,"  she  said,  meekly, 
"  that  I  am  not  willing  that  3^ou  should  be  her 
friend,  but  I  do  think  that  if  j^ou  are,  j^ou  will  ad- 
vise her  to  remain  in  her  present  home,  where  she 
seems  to  have  been  placed,  and  not  attempt  to  be 
what  she  is  not  or  ever  can  be !" 

Lily's  appearance  put  an  end  to  further  conver- 
sation, and  without  a  moment's  dela}^  the  horses 
were  turned  towards  the  village. 

"  You  see  I  have  changed  ni}-  plumage,"  Lily 
said  with  a  smile.  "  I  returned  to  Boston  with  a 
very  small  wardrobe,  only  what  had  been  provided 
for  me  at  the  hospital  b\^  some  kind  visitors,  and 
Willie  out  of  his  little  accumulations  insisted  upon 
this  French  lawn,  which  I  keep  for  mj^  '  dress-up.' 
It  is  verj'  prett}^,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  not 
'  picked  up '  as  much  as  you  ought  in  three 
months.  You  are  looking  much  thinner  than  I 
had  thought  of  finding  you  !" 

"  It  is  such  a  mj^stery  !  I  cannot  sleep  !  That 
voice  in  the  darkness  under  the  trees  that  called 
me  so  feebl}^  and  with  such  perfect  indifference  ! 
This  haunts  me  whenever  I  close  my  e3^es.  The 
whole  scene  ;  the  masked  face,  the  rolling  billows, 
the  sound  of  the  huge  waves  as  the3^  dashed 
against  the  rocks  ;  all,  all  terrif3^  and  distract  me ! 
How  can  the  flesh  ever  creep  back  upon  ni}-  bones 
or  the  color  to  m3-  cheek  or  lips  ?     O  that  terrible 


THE   SHADOWS    AS   THEY    FLY.  33l> 

night  !  Its*  horrors  even  as  I  recall  them  well 
nigh  curdle  my  blood  !" 

"  Poor  child  !"     But  Willie  interrupted  them. 

"  It  is  only  two  years,  or  a  little  more,  since  we 
rode  together  over  this  road.  Dear  old  Rover  ;  he 
must  have  one  drive  to  the  village  before  he  returns 
to  his  city  life.  I  do  not  think  he  likes  it  as  well 
as  his  master,  Mrs.  Gaylord,'  he  continued,  with  an 
air  of  pleasantry. 

"  We  understand  you,  Willie,"  Lily  laughed, 
wholly  recalled  from  her  dark  remembrances. 
"  Two  years,  and  very  eventful  ones  too  ;  but  Ro- 
ver must  have  his  pleasure  now  as  well  as  we." 

"  The  horses  trotted  briskly  forward,  and  very 
little  niore  was  said  until  the  trio  were  cosily  seat- 
ed in  the  little  upper  parlor  of  the  inn. 

"  My  child,  I  conclude,  from  one  little  remark 
you  have  made,  that  Mrs.  Belmont,  in  your  opin- 
ion, knew  something  of  the  sad  affair  before  the 
hour  in  which  you  were  carrid  away." 

"  Yes,  I  do  believe  it !  " 

"Why?" 

"You  would  not  have  asked  had  you  noticed  her 
while  we  were  sitting  on  the  sofa,  the  first  time  of 
our  meeting  at  the  Washburn's,  when  she  quizzed 
me  about  my  early  life, — my  parentage,  and  my 
fanciful  name  of  '  Lily  Pearl,'  which  I  took  occa- 
sion to  tell  her  after  my  suspicions  were  aroused  ! 
Mrs.  Gaylord,  she  knows  something  of  my  history. 
I  feel  it ;  I  cannot  be  mistaken  !" 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  her  about  it  ?" 

"  I  did.  When  she  came  to  my  room  the  next 
day  while  I  was  dressing  for  dinner,  and  in  her 
caressing  way  patted  my  neck  and  spoke  of  its 
whiteness  and  beauty,  at  the   same  time  inadver- 


;U()  THE    MISTRKSS    OF    ROSED  ALE. 

taiitly,  as  she  would  evidently  have  me  think, 
bared  my  shoulders,  and,  as  she  did  so,  gave  a  lit- 
tle shriek.  As  I  looked  up  into  her  face  I  saw  it 
was  deadly  pale  !  '  What  is  it  ?'  I  asked,  as  calm- 
ly as  possible.  '  Do  those  purple  spots  remind  you 
of  anything?'  '  Remind  me?  What  do  you  mean, 
child  ?  '  Just  what  I  said.  Do  they  remind  you  of 
anything  in  the  past  ?  Mrs.  Belmont,  you  know 
something  about  me  or  you  would  not  appear  so 
strangel}'.  Tell  me,  will  you  ?  Who  am  I  ?  and 
where  are  ni}^  parents  ?  I  was  looking  her  directly 
in  the  e^^e  and  she  trembled  under  ni}^  gaze.  'You 
are  mistaken,  my  dear,'  she  replied  blandly,  '  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  you  whatever !  How  could 
I  ?  I  never  heard  of  3^ou  till  last  night,  "and  cer- 
tainly never  looked  into  your  face;  a  verj^  prettyone, 
however,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  spoil  it  b}^  allow- 
ing anger  or  unjust  suspicion  to  creep  into  j-our 
heart,  for  they  always  leave  an  impress  upon  the 
countenance.'  She  was  turning  to  leave  the  room 
when  I  stopped  her.  'This  is  all  very  well,  still  I 
am  not  convinced  that  you  are  ignorant  of  my 
early  life !  Why  did  these  unusual  spots  upon 
my  shoulder  startle  j^ou,  as  the  mentioning  of  my 
name,  Lily  Pearl,  did  last  night?  W^hy  do  you 
gaze  at  me  so  fixedly  while  at  the  table,  and  shrink 
with  such  pallor  when  I  return  the  look  ?  Tell 
me,  ]\Irs.  Belmont,  who  ami?  'Satan's  own,  I 
believe,'  she  said  furiously,  as  she  rushed  from  the 
room. 

"  Her  manner  changed  after.  She  was  kind  and 
conciliating  ;  her  attentions  flattering  to  one  like 
myself.  I  feared  her,  yet  she  fascinated  me !  I 
strove  to  break  away  from  her  enchantments,  but 
her   power  over  my   silly  heart  was   wholly  unac- 


THE   SHADOWS    AS    THEY    FLY.  341 

counted  for.  I  had  read  somewhere  of  the  serpent 
who  could  charm  its  victim  to  destroy  it ;  and  I 
felt  that  I  was  that  victim  !  I  could  not  tell,  for  I 
did  not  understand  it  myself.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  to  explain.  And  then,  her  manner  on 
that  night !  I  feared  to  take  that  ride,  but  had  no 
power  to  refuse.  Willie  says  that  the  Father  was 
permitting  all  this  and  holding  my  opposition  in 
check  for  some  great  purpose  yet  unforeseen, 
and,  as  I  look  back  upon  it,  wonder  if  it  is  so." 

"  Did  you  not  get  some  idea  from  the  men  who 
had  you  in  charge  ?" 

"  No,  they  said  but  little.  They  had  bound  my 
hands  and  threw  me  into  the  boat,  supposing  I  had 
fainted.  They  spoke  about  the  impossibility  of  get- 
ting to  the  ship  in  such  a  sea  ;  and  expressed  a 
little  sympathy  for  my  situation  as  nearly  as  I 
could  understand ;  but  said  nothing  about  their 
reasons  for  doing  what  they  had.  I  had  succeeded 
in  getting  my  hands  loose,  and,  without  any  pre- 
meditation, pushed  away  from  their  power  as  they 
stepped  on  the  rocks  to  fasten  the  boat.  Here  I 
think  was  where  the  Father  took  the  matter 
into  His  own  hands.  I  was  severed  from  all  earth- 
ly connections;  had  broken  all  human  ties,  and  was 
alone  with  God  upon  the  waters  !  As  the  first 
wave  lifted  my  boat  high  upon  its  foaming  crest  I 
cried  out  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  "  Lord,  save  or 
I  perish  !  "  Then  the  billow  rolled  from  under  me 
and  a  sweet  peace  came  into  my  soul.  Then  I 
remembered  the  little  upper  chamber  at  the  cot- 
tage, when  one  night  I  found  that  the  angry  bil- 
lows of  life's  ocean  were  dashing  themselves 
around  me,  and  heard  Willie's  prayer.  '  Keep  her 
safe,  O  my  Father,  when  the  troubles  of  this  world 


:U2 


THK    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


fall  upon  her!  Help  lier  to  bear  thciii,  and  give 
her  streiig'th  to  battle  ever}^  storm  !  '  Then  I  knew 
I  should  not  be  drowned — I  should  be  kept  safel}'. 
All  night  the  winds  howled,  and  the  sea  roared, 
and  I  was  safe  on  the  deep.  But  it  was  cold  and 
I  was  tliinl}^  dressed.  I  do  not  know  at  what 
time  the  mantle  of  unconsciousness  was  thrown 
over  me,  but  it  was  in  the  earl}'-  morn  that  the 
'  Constitution  '  picked  me  up.  I  was  very  ill,  and 
unconscious  on  ship-board  and  in  the  hospital,  and 
when  sufhcientl}'  restored,  they  asked  me  '  who 
was  Willie  and  where  could  the}^  find  him.'  I 
told  them.  His  name  broke  the  fetters  that  had 
bound  me  so  long.  I  was  better,  and  almost  two 
months  ago  the}'  sent  me  to  him.  Now  tell  me  ; 
wdiat  does  it  all  mean  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CHANGING   CLOUDS. 

Reader,  did  you  ever  stand  and  watch  the 
waving  crimson  curtains  hanging  in  the  western 
sky  on  some  calm  summer  eve  while  they  were 
trying  to  shut  out  the  glorious  sunset  from  view  ? 
As  you  wondered  at  their  changing  beauties,  did 
you  remember  that  the  objects  of  so  much  gorgeous 
display  were  only  cold,  damp,  gray  clouds,  un- 
sightly in  themselves,  without  attraction,  and  that 
it  was  only  the  reflection  of  a  hidden  power  upon 
which  you  were  gazing  with  so  much  rapture  ?  So 
it  is  in  our  lives,  and  a  chill,  sombre  day  we  would 
have  of  it  did  not  some  power  behind  the  throne 
cast  a  few  golden  rays  upon  the  clouds  of  gray. 

"The  problem  cannot  be  solved  !"  thought  Mrs. 
Gaylord,  as  she  settled  down  in  her  old  life,  with 
Lily  as  her  companion,  after  the  fashion  of  former 
days.  Lily  was  no  longer  without  friends,  home 
or  clothing,  as  the  extra  large  trunk  in  the  store- 
room with  those  of  Mrs.  Gaylord's  amply  proved. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  did  not  fail  to  express  her  indig- 
nation in  very  characteristic  style  when  the  con- 
clusion was  fully  reached  that  the  "girl"  would 
return  to  her  former  life  and  associations.  "  The 
foolish  thing!"  she  exclaimed.  "One  more  ride, 
I  imagine,  will  finish  the  whole  matter.  I  don't 
see  why  she  cannot  be  satisfied  with  well  enough. 

3^3 


344  THE    MISTREvSS    OF    ROSRDALE. 

She'll  find  out  her  mistake  when  it's  too  late. 
One  tiling  I  am  decided  upon.  She  mustn't  come 
here  again  when  thrown  off  by  those  who  pretend 
to  be  her  friends.  I  won't  have  anj^thing  more  to 
do  with  her." 

All  this  was  said  to  Willie  that  evening  after  his 
return  from  the  village.  "  She  might  have  stayed 
here  and  worked  to  pay  her  way  as  she  ought  to 
do.  She's  no  better  than  I  am,  and  should  be 
made  to  keep  where  she  belongs.  But  that  silly 
woman  likes  her  prett}^  face  and  enjoys  her 
reading,  and  so  will  dress  her  up  and  spoil  her  for 
the  sake  of  gratif3nng  her  own  wishes  for  a  little 
time,  and  b}^  and  b}^  will  send  her  back,  I  suppose, 
for  me  to  wait  upon.  But  she'll  find  herself 
mistaken.     I  won't  do  it !" 

"  It  seems  to  me,  sister,  that  you  are  making 
yourself  unnecessarily  unhappj^"  replied  Willie 
very  mildl}',  when  Fanny  had  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  get  her  breath.  "  I  do  not  think  that 
'  Phebe '  will  ever  trouble  you  again.  She  shall 
never  know  of  this  conversation,  hewever,  for  I 
believe  when  3^ou  think  it  calmly  over  you  will 
be  sorry.  It  does  not  seem  to  have  been  any 
fault  of  Mrs.  Gaylord's  that  she  had  her  unpleasant 
ride,  and  I  cannot  think  her  foolish  in  the  choice 
she  has  made." 

]\Ir.  Hopkins  coming  in  put  an  end  to  the  con- 
versation. He  inquired  kindly  if  "  Phebe  "  had 
concluded  to  remain  at  the  hotel  ? 

"  Mrs.  Gaylord  claims  her  on  the  old  contract,  I 
believe,"  replied  Willie. 

"  Sensible  to  the  last,"  he  supplemented.  And 
Fanny  went  on  with  her  work. 


CHANGING    CLOUDS.  OiO 

All  this  time  clouds  were  shifting  in  other 
portions  of  our  historical  firmament,  and  bright 
rays  from  behind  the  curtain  were  falling  else- 
where on  damp,  gray  lives.  Mrs.  Belmont  had 
reached  Philadelphia,  and  was  not  very  agreeably 
or  graciously  received,  though  her  relative  knew 
nothing  of  her  residence  in  Washington,  or  of  the 
public  life  she  had  been  leading.  Lillian  had  been 
careful  to  throw  upon  her  mother's  actions  regard- 
ing her  the  brightest  colors  possible  ;  still  enough 
had  been  known  of  the  incidents  of  the  last  few 
years  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  present  reception, 
and  the  lad}^  felt  its  chilliness. 

Anna  Pierson,  too,  was  watching  the  summer 
sky  with  its  chill,  gray  clouds,  and  wondering  why 
the  misty  folds  sometimes  crimsoned  with  a  far-off 
beauty.  Her  dead  had  been  buried,  and  frequent 
news  of  the  absent  brother  told  of  safety.  As  the 
days  flew  by,  there  came  reports  of  exchange  of 
prisoners,  of  furloughs  and  release  from  hospital 
treatment  and  restraints.  These,  it  must  be,  were 
the  bright  reflections  that  gilded  her  western  sky 
as  she  carefully  watched  it.  Ellen  St.  Clair's 
letters  were  frequent,  and  usually  contained  very 
cheering  reports.  "George  was  getting  better, 
could  sit  up  a  little,  and  was  as  impatient  and 
peevish  as  a  naughty  child."  Still  the  October 
haze  would  paint  the  leaves  before  the  exiles  could 
be  expected  at  the  widow's  cottage. 

"It  is  terribly  dreary  here,"  KUen  w^rote  one 
day  while  the  September  rains  were  falling  ;  "  and 
I  have  petitioned  for  a  removal  to  other  quarters, 
and  next  week  George  is  to  be  taken  to  Wash- 
ington, where  I  shall  be  permitted  to  follow.  He 
has    fully  recanted   his  Southern  faith,  and  very 


346       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

marked  honors  are  being  showered  on  him.  It  is 
somewhat  grateful  to  my  feelings  to  be  the  sister 
of  so  noted  a  personage  at  this  time.  Can  you 
realize  it  ?  I  have  stood  in  the  presence  of  the 
chief  magistrate  himself.  Yes,  it  is  true.  In  one 
of  his  visits  at  the  hospitals  yesterday  he  was 
officially  escorted  to  our  rooms  by  a  little  negro 
about  two  feet  high,  and  I — well,  I  did  almost  fall 
in  love  with  him.  No  one  must  ever  call  him  ugly 
in  my  presence.  I  think  him  decided!}'-  good-look- 
ing. When  he  said  at  parting,  'Aliss  St.  Clair, 
take  extra  good  care  of  j^our  brother — and  your- 
self,' the  work  was  done;  I  am  his  friend  for  ever 
more !" 

George  St.  Clair  bore  his  short  transfer  remark- 
ably well,  and  upon  arriving  in  the  city  was  placed 
in  the  ward  of  convalescents,  where  his  spirits  soon 
revived,  notwithstanding  the  hard  shots  that  were 
so  often  thrown  with  unerring  aim  at  his  well- 
established  prejudices.  Here  were  a  few  highly 
educated  and  popular  men,  some  of  high  rank  in 
the  army,  and  our  soldier  found  himself  in  very 
congenial  societ}'. 

Then  there  came  another  letter  to  the  widow's 
cottage,  sajnng:  "I  am  most  ignobl}'  discharged. 
'  Do  not  need  a  nurse  any  more,'  etc.,  etc.  So  you 
will  greet  your  disconsolate  daughter  immediately 
after  a  little  sight-seeing." 

It  was  true.  All  that  was  now  required  was 
patience  while  the  old  strength  slowly  returned,  and 
Toby  was  fully  capable  of  attending  to  his  mas- 
ter's necessities.  The  second  morning  after  the 
new  arrival  dawned  cold  and  rainy.  The  poor  torn 
back  fretted  in  such  an  atmosphere  and  was  very 
painful.     Not    feeling  able    to  join    the  others  in 


CHANGING   CLOUDS.  347 

the  morning  meal,  George  St.  Clair  returned  to 
his  bed,  and  was  lying  moodily  watching  his 
companions,  when  a  lady  entered,  and  walked  di- 
rectly up  to  a  noble-looking  officer  with  whom  he 
had  been  much  pleased  the  day  before,  but  whose 
name  he  had  not  learned,  as  all  addressed  him  as 
"  Colonel."  There  was  something  strangely  fami- 
liar about  that  walk  and  movement  of  the  head  and 
shoulders,  and,  as  he  had  nothing  better  to  do, 
gazed  at  her,  wishing  all  the  time  that  she  would 
turn  a  little,  that  he  might  have  a  view  of  her  face, 
but  she  was  busily  engaged,  and  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  gratify  our  hero.  All  apparently  had 
met  her  before,  for  each  received  a  word  of  greet- 
ing, as  he  judged,  although  too  far  away  to  hear 
more  than  the  murmuring  of  voices.  Then  the 
Colonel  monopolized  her  attention,  and  after  a  mo- 
ments talk  both  turned  abruptly  in  the  direction 
where  he  was  reclining. 

"  Then  he  has  been  telling  her  of  me  ! 

They  moved  forward.  "  Coming  to  see  the 
'  Rebel,'  no  doubt.  Who  can  she  be  ?"  That 
walk  !  That  form  !  They  neared  him.  A  veil 
had  partially  covered  her  face,  but  now  it  was 
thrown  back  as  she  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of 
surprise  and  joy.   "  George  St.  Clair  !   My  brother!" 

With  an  impulse  unusual  to  the  young  lady  of 
Rosedale,  she  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  his   forehead  with  a  sisterly  demonstration. 

"I  did  not  know, — I  had  not  heard  that  you  were 
here  !     How  glad  I  am  to  meet  you."^ 

"  Lillian  !  I  never  was  so  astonished  !  You  in 
such  a  place  as  this  !  The  delicate,  frail,  '  Lily 
Bell  ?'     Let  me  take  your  hand  ;  It  cannot  be  !" 


3i8  THE  mistrp:ss  of  rosedale, 

She  had  stepped  back  from  him  as  he  spoke,  and 
now  a  low  rippling  laugh  floated  away  from  her 
parted  lips. 

"Well,  well!  am  I  of  no  account?"  exclaimed 
her  companion,  joining  in  the  laugh.  "  This 
may  be  XQvy  interesting  to  the  parties  immediately 
concerned,  but  to  look  mutel}^  on  is  another 
thing." 

Lillian  shook  her  finger  at  him  menacingly. 

"  Yes,  George,  you  remember  I  told  \'ou  of  my 
husband.  I  have  found  him  ;  Colonel  Hamilton  ! 
Two  brave  soldiers  who  have  bled  for  their  coun- 
try's weal.  You  will  be  brothers  ?  Let  me  per- 
form the  ceremou}  of  uniting  hands, — the  hearts 
will  be  sure  to  come  together." 

"  Surprises  thicken  !  Wh}-  did  you  not  tell  me 
during  our  long  chat  last  evening,  that  3'ou  were 
the  thief  who  robbed  me  of  my  coveted  '  Lily 
Bell  ?"  All  this,  and  yet  the  world  moves  on  ! 
The  war  is  developing  and  unraveling  !  What 
will  come  next  ?  " 

"Not  to  be  known  as  there  are  no  headings  to 
the  chapters  !  "  Then  there  was  a  long  talk,  and 
many  little  items  of  news  imparted  that  brought 
the  deepening  color  to  more  than  one  cheek. 

"It  would,  without  doubt,  be  a  little  unpleasant 
for  me  to  return  to  my  Southern  home  just  at  pre- 
sent," said  St.  Clair,  when  the  conversation  lagged. 
"  And  I  am  told  from  headquarters  that  I  shall  not 
be  able  for  active  service  for  months  3'et ;  so  I 
propose  to  go  farther  north  where  my  parents  are, 
and,  perhaps,  burrow  for  the  winter.  It  will  be 
pretty  cold  for  Confederate  blood,  but  it  is  about 
the  best  I  can  do." 


CHANGING    CLOUDS.  349 

"  A  capital  idea  !  Get  acquainted  with  us  low 
fellows, — I  think  you  will  like  us  when  you  know 
us  better." 

"  Have  3^ou  seen  Ellen  ?"  He  had  turned  to 
Lillian  now. 

"Ellen?     Is  she  here?" 

"  Out  sight-seeing  somewhere.  She  is  to  return 
to  her  temporary  home  in  a  day  or  two." 

All  this  time,  ]\Irs.  Hamilton  had  not  spoken 
of  her  mother, — not  inquired  for  her.  She  had 
met  and  recognized  her;  but  where  was  she  now  ? 
For  weeks  she  had  watched  for  the  familiar  face; 
had  looked  everywhere  for  the  flutter  of  the  gray 
silk;  and  thus  far  it  had  been  in  vain.  "  Where 
was  she  ?  Would  she  come  no  more?"  A  great 
disappointment  had  found  its  way  into  the  hap- 
py heart,  where  love  had  for  so  many  years  been 
weeping,  but  where  all  tears  were  now  wnped  away 
in  a  blissful  reunion.  Lillian  loved  her  mother. 
She  had  been  petted  and  fondled  by  her  through 
all  her  childhood's  days;  but  the  memory  of  the 
bitter  curse  would  creep  in  among  her  jo3^s,  drag- 
ging after  it  the  cold,  dark  shadows  that  for  a 
time  would  exclude  the  warmth. 

Mrs.  Hamilton  called  upon  Ellen  St.  Clair  at 
her  lodgings,  where  new  interests  were  brought 
out,  and  many  little  feminine  secrets  unveiled, 
which  tangled  themselves  together  in  a  very  per- 
plexing sort  of  way.  The  story  of  Lily  Gaylord's 
disappearance,  and  her  father's  "  unjust  censure 
of  Mrs.  Belmont"  was  duly  discussed  and  com- 
mented upon. 

"  An  adopted  daughter,  you  said,  of  the  lady?" 
queried  Lillian. 


350  THE    :\IISTRESS   OF    ROSRDALE. 

"  Yes,  and  George  said  from  the  first  that  she 
resembled  yon  in  many  \va3^s.  Her  ej^es  certainly 
were  as  large  and  dreamy.  '  Beantifnl/  as  Grace 
would  sa}',  '  as  those  of  ni}-  Lily  Bell.'  It  was  a 
storni}^  night  on  the  sea,  and,  as  ev2ry  one  declar- 
ed, no  small  boat  conld  keep  np  an}'  length  of 
time,  and  as  nothing  conld  be  heard  from  her,  it 
was  conclnded  she  must  be  lost,''  Ellen  went  on  to 
say. 

"  Dreadfnl  !      A  young  girl  of ?" 

"  Of  sixteen,  I  believe. 

Ivillian  started.  "Sixteen!  How  strange! 
— and  my  mother  was  with  her — and  unattended  !" 

"  You  seem  excited;  well  we  all  were  shocked  ! 
It  was  so  inexplicable.  Such  a  m3'ster3'  !  But  it 
was  soon  forgotten  in  the  greater  interests  of  the 
war.  You  know  one  is  not  missed  when  so  mau}^ 
are  being  lost." 

It  was  Ellen  M'ho  had  said  this,  but  her  visitor 
sat  motionless,  her  large  eyes  dilated  as  though 
striving  to  penetrate  some  dark  uncertainty. 

"  I  cannot  but  think  how  strange  it  is  for  j^ou 
to  be  here — and  with  a  Jiusband!  Whj^  did  you 
never  tell  us  ?" 

"  It  was  only  one  of  ni}^  secrets,  dear  Ellen," 
was  the  hesitating  reply.  "  But  I  am  detaining 
you.  We  are  a  ver}^  busy  people  in  Washington, 
and  you  are  to  leave  here  soon  ?" 

"  In  three  daj-s." 

Ellen  went  as  she  intended.  It  was  a  long,  tire- 
some journey  to  take  alone,  but  her  heart  had 
become  brave.  There  was  a  pleasant  reunion  at 
the  widow's  home  on  the  evening  of  her  arrival. 
George  was  better,  and  the  hearts  of  the  parents 
beat  with  a  steady   pulsation  once  more.     Bertha 


CHANGING   CLOUDS.  351 

and  the  children  were  well,  as  late  letters  from 
the  dear  old  home  had  assnred  them,  and  now 
Ellen  had  safely  returned. 

"  George  will  write  a  few  words  every  day  and 
mail  it  once  a  week,"  was  the  glad  response  to  the 
inquiry  as  to  how  they  were  to  hear  from  him, 
"  And  in  a  month,  the  physician  sa3'S,  he  will 
probably  be  able  to  travel  a  short  distance  each 
day,  and  will  get  to  his  chair  at  our  table  before  it 
is  very  cold.  He  has  ordered  me  to  engage  rooms 
for  us  all  at  the  hotel  for  the  winter,  but  I  hate 
hotels,  and  it  is  so  cozy  here  !" 

"  Anna  and  I  would  be  very  lonely  without  you 
now,"  interposed  the  widow,  calmly.  "  Our  rooms 
are  small,  but  we  have  a  goodly  number  of  them." 

"  And  I  will  call  it'  Maple  Grove  Inn  '  and  write 
that  I  have  secured  a  suite  of  rooms  ample  for  us 
all !  Bravo !  And  I  want  to  learn  to  make  pies 
and  cakes  and  put  my  own  hands  into  the  biscuits, 
for  I  am  a  Yankee  girl  from  henceforth  !  No  more 
black  fingers  in  my  bread.  Dear  old  Katy,"  she 
said,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  How  good  every- 
thing tasted  that  her  poor  old  ebony  hands  made ! 
If  I  could  find  such  a  noble  looking  northerner  as 
L-illian  has  for  her  husband  he  wouldn't  have  to 
ask  me  more  than  once  to  be  his  wife  !" 

''  Lillian's  husband,  my  child  ?"  interrogated 
both  father  and  mother  in  a  breath. 

"  Certainly ;  but  I  have  not  told  you.  One  can- 
not sa3r  everything  in  an  hour!"  And  then  the 
story  was  reproduced  with  the  details  George  had 
added,  having  known  it  for  months,  yes  almost  a 
year  and  never  told  it,  not  forgetting  her  abstracted 
manner  as  the  disappearance  of  Lily  Gaylord  was 
rehearsed.     "  One  might  have  imagined  to  look  at 


352  THE    MIvSTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

her  that  the  girl  was  a  near  kin.  She  asked  me 
about  her  general  aj)pearance,  and  when  I  said 
that  some  thought  there  was  a  very  striking  re- 
semblance between  her  and  Mrs.  Ga3dord's  adopted 
daughter  you  ought  to  have  seen  the  look  !" 

''  You  are  quite  imaginative,  my  dear,"  remarked 
Mrs.  St.  Clair  warmly.  "It  was  the  shock,  her 
mother  being  with  Lil}"  at  the  time  that  gave  her 
the  look  you  speak  of.  I  do  not  wonder,  for  there 
was  room  at  least  for  censure  !" 

"That's  a  fact,  wife!  I  should  like  to  know 
where  the  mistress  of  Rosedale  is  keeping  herself? 
Bertha  writes  that  she  disappeared  soon  after  leav- 
ing the  cit}^,  and  Charles  has  never  heard  from  her 
since.  Didn't  meet  her  in  Washington  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"  No,  father,"  and  a  hearty  laugh  followed. 
When  quiet  was  restored  Ellen  asked  :  ''  Where 
is  Charles,  father?" 

"  Skulking  around  without  doubt  for  fear  of 
being  drafted,  and  the  negroes  have  it  all  their 
own  wa}^  at  Rosedale  now,  I  believe." 

That  night  as  the  mother  and  daughter  were 
left  alone,  the  former  interrupted  a  prolonged 
silence  b}^  the  abrupt  question  :  "  Anna,  ni}^  child, 
what  about  this  George  St.  Clair?  Has  a  secret 
crept  into  your  confiding  heart  that  you  would 
keep  hidden  from  the  careful,  watchful  eye  of 
your  parent  ?  Tell  me,  what  about  this  rebel 
colonel  ?" 

A  long  silence  followed.  At  last,  "  I  was  wait- 
ing, mother,"  she  said,  "  for  my  heart  to  be  sure  of 
its  first  great  lesson  before  imparting  it  to  you. 
But  first  let  me  tell  3'ou  he  is  true,  loyal,  to  the 
old  flag  under  which  my  brother  fought  and  died. 


CHANGING    CLOUDS.  353 

It  was  the  circumstances  of  his  life  that  has  placed 
him  where  he  was,  and  not  the  convictions  of  his 
better  judgment." 

The  mother  watched  the  beaming  face.  "  And 
you  can  excuse  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  my  heart  pleads  for  him  !  I  can- 
not deny  it ;  I  do  love  George  St.  Clair  !  My 
brother  has  been  slain  upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice, 
but  his  hand  has  not  the  stain  of  his  blood  upon 
it !"  There  were  tears  in  the  mild  blue  eyes  and 
the  mother  saw  them. 

"  Does  he  know  all  this  ?" 

"  All,  mother  !  This  was  the  storm  that  rolled 
about  me  when  in  Alexandria.  The  waves  dashed 
high,  but  it  cannot  be  wrong;  I  do  love  George 
St.  Clair  !" 

"  Do  you  realize  the  great  difference  in  your 
social  positions  ?  You  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
widow — he  the  heir  of  large  possessions  and  a 
devotee  to  aristocracy.  O  my  daughter,  I  fear  for 
your  future  happiness  !"  The  dear  face  showed 
the  inward  struggle  of  the  mother's  heart,  and  the 
hand  upon  which  her  head  was  languidly  resting 
trembled. 

"  Wait  until  you  see  him,"  pleaded  the  daugh- 
ter ;  "  he  is  good  and  noble  !" 

"  My  basket  is  getting  full  of  bitter  fruit  in  the 
commencement  of  this  terrible  war  ;  what  will  it  be 
when  the  harvest  is  wholly  gathered?" 

"  Mother,  have  you  forgotten  that  '  all  things 
shall  work  together  for  good  to  those  who  trust 
God  ?'  Can  you  not  trust  now  as  surely  as  when 
you  laid  your  two  sons  where  the  fire  might  con- 
sume them?"     She   was  standing  by  the  side  of 


354 


THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE- 


that    motlier  now,   and   an   arm   had   stolen  softly 
about  her  neck. 

"  I  will  trust  Him  !"  came  from  the  compressed 
lips,  and  drawing  her  daughter  upon  her  knee  as 
in  the  years  gone  by  she  looked  into  her  flushed 
face.  "  Whatever  God  wills  my  selfish  heart  will 
not  pronounce  unkind  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  DARKNESS    THICKENS. 

"  Pass  those  letters  over  to  me,  Mr.  Cheevers," 
suggested  the  wife,  as  the  gentlemen  addressed 
drew  several  from  his  pocket  while  waiting  for 
his  supper.  "  One  from  New  Orleans — that  is 
good — one  from  Washington  !  Lillian  !  It  has 
been  some  time  since  we  have  had  such  a  pleas- 
ure," continued  the  lady  more  calmly,  for  she  had 
not  intended  to  let  Mrs.  Belmont  know  of  her 
correspondence  with  her  daughter,  but  her  glad 
surprise  on  this  occasion  had  betrayed  the  secret. 
The  husband  was  peering  over  the  top  of  his 
paper  at  the  mother  as  the  exclamation  fell  on  her 
ear,  and  saw  the  sudden  start  and  pallor  of  her 
face  as  she  endeavored  to  appear  uninterested. 
Mrs.  Cheevers  had  opened  the  welcome  missive 
and  was  reading.  "  How  strange,"  she  murmured 
as  she  turned  the  page.  ]\Irs.  Belmont  stirred 
uneasily  in  her  chair.     "  Well^  I  declare!''^ 

"A  good  many  exclamation  points;"  this  from 
the  husband,  carelessly. 

"  Lillian  seems  very  happ}^  with  her  husband 
and  in  her  new  vocation  as  nurse.  How  little  w^e 
ever  imagined,  Charlotte,  that  your  daughter 
would  make  such  a  noble  woman  !  It  takes  a 
good  many  hard  winds  to  bring  out  the  strength 
of  the  '  sapling,'    but  it  will  do  it !"     The  letter 


356  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

was  finished  and  Mrs.  Clieevers  sat  motionless 
with  it  lying  npon  her  lap. 

"No  bad  news,  I  hope?"  interrogated  Mrs,  Bel- 
mont with  some  trepidition. 

"  No.  I  was  trying,  however,  to  gness  it  out ! 
You  did  not  tell  us,  Charlotte,  that  you  had  been 
in  Washington  ;  why  did  you  not  call  upon  your 
daughter  ?  She  writes  that  she  saw  you  and  has 
been  looking  ever3^where  and  cannot  find  you, 
and  has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  are  not 
in  the  cit}^,  and  then  adds  '  she  can  hardly  think 
of  going  back  to  Rosedale  at  present,  as  traveling 
in  that  direction  would  be  very  unpleasant  with 
the  whole  army  of  the  Potomac  to  encounter ;  and 
I  have  thought  perhaps  she  would  visit  j^ou.  If 
she  does,  detain  her  if  possible  until  my  return  to 
Philadelphia.  Pearl  is  recovering,  and  before  cold 
weather  will  probably  go  back  to  his  duties.  The 
realization  of  that  coming  good-b3'e  envelopes  me 
with  its  terrible  presentiments.  How  can  I  ever 
permit  him  to  go  from  my  sight  again  !  You  will 
sa}^  I  am  foolish  and  uncle  would  scold  me  if  he 
could,  for  I  propose  going  with  him  ;  not  as  a 
soldier  but  as  assistant  in  the  hospitals,  which 
will  spring  up  in  the  trail  of  our  advancing  arm}-. 
But  we  will  talk  this  over,  when  on  his  furlough 
we  visit  for  a  few  days  his  mother  and  my  dear 
uncle  and  aunt.'  Now,  why  did  you  not  like  an 
affectionate  mother  go  to  see  Lillian  and  get  an 
introduction  to  your  son-in-law?" 

"  You  have  explained  the  reason.  I  did  not  de- 
sire to  meet  her  husband,  and  having  learned  that 
she  was  with  him  was  compelled  to  leave  the  city 
without  going  to  her  as  I  would  have  wished.  The 
time  may  come  when  my  '  prejudices,'  as  you  call 


THE    DARKNESS    THICKENS.  357 

them,  can  be  overcome,  but  as  yet  my  whole  soul 
recoils  from  the  contact!" 

Mr.  Cheevers  laid  down  his  paper  and  laughed 
ironically.  "  It  seems  to  me  thai  Irene  is  unusu- 
ally slow.  I  must  get  back  to  the  store."  He 
walked  across  the  floor  impatiently. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  what  is  the  matter  and  let 
Sylvia's  letter  go  until  after  tea."  The  bell  soon 
rang,  and  while  the  husband  was  satisfying  his 
appetite  with  the  evening  bounties  the  wife  ran 
over  Sylvia's  letter. 

"  All  well — but  in  a  flutter  of  fearful  forebod- 
ings," was  the  report  as  she  proceeded.  "  Grace 
is  dreadfully  worried  about  Lillian,"  she  added 
when  the  missive  was  finished.  "  I  think  the 
mails  are  not  very  regular,  for  I  sent  a  full  report 
of  her  doings  and  experiences  a  month  ago." 

"  Write  again,  wife.  All  who  love  Lillian  are 
anxious  about  her  of  course.  It  must  be  dreadful 
to  them  to  have  her  up  here  among  her  enemies ! 
This  is  the  strangest  war  on  record !  Who  ever 
read  of  the  families  of  the  belligerents  rushing 
into  the  arms  of  their  bitter  foes  for  protection 
and  safety  ?  Here  is  Mrs.  Belmont,  for  instance, 
who  is  shrinking  and  shivering  at  the  very 
thought  of  the  contaminations  of  her  son-in-law, 
but  who  settles  down  as  cozily  as  may  be  in  the 
very  midst  of  those  whom  she  would  be  glad  to 
see  annihilated."  He  laughed  heartily  as  he  arose 
from  the  table  and  left  the  house. 

Their  guest  was  irritated,  excited  and  alarmed  ! 
Had  her  daughter  said  more  than  had  been  im- 
parted ?  There  was  something  in  the  manner  of 
both  husband  and  wife  that  had  made  her  feel  this 
was  so.     But  what  was  it  ?     O,  if  she  could  only 


358  THE  MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

get  that  letter  !  If  her  eyes  could  devour  its  con- 
tents !  She  saw  it  go  into  the  ample  pocket  of 
the  lady's  dress  and  her  mind  was  made  up  ;  she 
would  read  it  if  in  any  way  possible !  She  was 
coming,  that  was  sure,  and  he  would  be  with  her. 
Could  she  meet  them  ?  How  was  it  to  be  avoided  ? 
She  had  told  him  without  doubt ;  but  what  if  she 
had  not  ?  What  if  after  all  Lillian  was  anxious 
to  bury  the  past — what  if  she  did  not  know?  ''  It 
was  an  error  that  I  did  not  speak  to  her  as  she 
stood  beside  the  carriage  that  afternoon  ;  but  how 
could  I  have  explained  ?  O  the  miseries  of  such 
a  life.  O  the  wretchedness  of  wrong-doing  !  While 
she  is  beloved,  petted  and  sought  after,  I  am  sus- 
pected and  growled  at  by  every  churlish  dog  who 
feels  inclined  to  show  his  teeth  menacingl}' !  O 
if  there  v^^as  a  place  on  the  broad  earth  where  such 
as  I  could  find  rest  and  concealment,  thither  would 
I  go  !  But  that  letter  I  must  have  !  If,  as  I  sus- 
pect, a  secret  is  divulged  or  a  hint  regarding  my 
reasons  for  being  in  Washington,  then  I  will  not 
meet  them,  even  if  to  avoid  it  I  must  hide  myself 
beneath  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Schu3-lkill.  No  ! 
no!  Witness  his  exultations?  Never!"  It  was 
a  firm  conclusion,  but  the  haughty  mistress  of 
Rosedale  never  faltered  when  a  resolve  was  fully 
taken. 

The  next  morning  when  I\Irs.  Cheevers  was 
superintending  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Belmont  might 
have  been  seen  standing  before  the  door  of  that 
lady's  wardrobe,  with  a  look  of  cynical  scorn  upon 
her  still  handsome  features  as  her  keen  e3'es  were 
running  over  the  page  of  the  coveted  letter  she  was 
holding  in  her  hand.  "  Ah  !  I  thought  so.  Could 
not    tell    what    could    have   been    my    mission   to 


THE    DARKNESS    THICKENS.  359 

Washington,  but  feared  it  was  for  no  good,  and 
that  justice  might  overtake  nie.  Kind,  certainly  ! 
Yes,  truly  !  The  look  on  my  face  did  '  reveal 
much,'  "  and  she  turned  the  page.  "  Here  was 
where  the  '  exclamation  points  '  came  in.  '  Re- 
vealed much,  and  my  prayer  is' — bosh  ! — ^.'that  she 
may  be  wise  enough  to  run  no  risks.  I  have 
learned  that  she  passed  herself  off  as  an  English 
lady  who  had  left  the  South  on  account  of  her 
anti-war  proclivities,  and  was  admitted  to  the  most 
select  circles  on  this  account.  If.  she  is  with  you, 
or  shall  come,  detain  her  until ' —  O  yes,  she 
could  hear  this.  But  why  not  the  rest  ?  The 
truth  is  clear,  I  am  suspected !  What  if  that 
splendid  colonel  of  hers  should  take  it  into  his 
noble  head  to  pay  off  a  few  of  the  old  scores  ?"  A 
step  was  heard  in  the  lower  hall,  and  trusting  the 
letter  into  the  lower  pocket,  from  whence  it  had 
been  taken,  she  glided  through  an  opposite  door, 
and  returned  to  her  own  room. 

"This  is  no  place  for  me,"  she  thought,  as, 
seating  herself  b}^  the  window,  she  prepared  to 
look  at  the  whole  matter  as  it  now  appeared.  "I 
am  not  w^anted ;  but  where  can  I  go  ?  Not  to 
Rosedale  ?  That  is  utterly  impossible.  Not  to 
Charleston  ?  There  I  shall  be  branded  as  a  coward 
and  disloyal  to  the  trust  imposed  in  me.  Where 
can  I  go?"  She  sat  a  long  time  apparently 
watching  the  pedestrians  who  were  leisurely  walk- 
ing past  the  house,  and  wondered  if  there  was 
another  in  that  vast  city  more  wretched,  more 
forlorn  than  was  she.  What  a  contrast  to  the 
years  that  were  gone  !  "  And  it  has  all  come  about 
by  the  silliness  of  that  girl.     Her  impudent  and 


i)(iO  THE    MISTREvSS    OF    ROSHDALE. 

foolish  marriage  has  covered  me  with  shame  and 
confusion."     Ah,  woman,  not  that  ! 

*' ril  do  it !"  she  said  at  last.  ''How  stupid  in 
me  not  to  have  thought  of  that  before!  It  will  be 
dreary  and  desolate,  but  better  so  than  to  remain 
here.  Then  the  check  for  that  last  paltry  five 
hundred  dollars  must  be  cashed.  A  meager  sum 
for  the  mistress  of  Rosedale  to  go  out  into  the 
world  with,  but  it  will  do."  She  arose  from  her 
seat  and  crossed  over  to  the  mirror.  "  Not  the 
:ame  face  that  was  there — let  me  see — yes,  seven- 
teen years  ago.  Then  those  lines  were  not  at  the 
corners  of  the  eyes,  nor  about  the  mouth ;  then 
there  was  no  silver  in  these  dark  locks,  for  no  such 
transgressions  scorched  ni}-  soul."  She  sank 
down  upon  a  chair  close  b}-,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  jeweled  hands,  and  for  the  first  time  for  many 
months  tears  came  to  moisten  the  hard  ground 
where  the  roots  of  womanly  affection  were  buried. 

"My  child!  O,  ni}^  child!"  she  murmured  at 
last,  as  her  long  taper  fingers  were  clasping  them- 
selves tightly  together.  "  I  have  wronged  you. 
It  was  cruel,  fiendish,  to  take3-our  babe  from  3'ou  ; 
but  doubl3^  so — wretch  that  I  am  !^to  plot  her 
ruin  b}'  sending  her  off  to  a  foreign  port,  where  I 
thought  she  could  never  return.  What  a  cur^e 
has  fallen  upon  me  !  I  did  not  intend  all  that  Mas 
done.  Those  terrible  black  stains  cannot  be  upon 
my  soul." 

The  autumnal  winds  came  and  blew  gentl}'  over 
the  great  cit3^  scattering  upon  the  tree-tops  and 
velvet3''  carpets  of  its  man3^  parks  and  lawns  their 
tracery  of  change.  The  birds  gathered  themselves 
together  among  the  branches  to  finish  their 
arrangements    for  the    long    journe3\     Yet    ]\Irs. 


THE    DARKNESS    THICKENS.  361 

Belmout  lingered  in  her  pleasant  quarters,  loth  to 
exchange  them  for  less  comfortable  ones.  Then 
letters  of  inquiry,  letters  of  solicitation,  had  been 
written,  and  answers  must  be  waited  for — and  so 
she  stayed. 

All  this  time  the  two  colonels  were  slowly  but 
positively  improving.  George  St.  Clair  might 
endure  the  jar  and  fatigue  of  travel,  and  Pearl 
Hamilton  his  former  position  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment,  and  word  was  sent  to  their  respective 
destinations  to  this  effect. 

"  In  a  week  Pearl  and  Lillian  will  be  here,"  was 
the  report  brought  by  Mrs.  Cheevers  on  returning 
one  day  from  a  short  round  of  calls,  and  her  air 
was  a  trifle  exultant.  "  We  must  do  them  honor, 
Mr.  Cheevers.  A  colonel  who  has  suffered  and 
bled  for  our  good,  and  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  a 
free  government,  deserves  all  the  glory  an  appre- 
ciative people  can  bestow." 

The  husband  straightened  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and  indulged  in  a  most  mirthful  "encore." 
"Bravo,  wife!  The  war  is  making  personal  devel- 
opments as  well.  Who  ever  imagined  there  was 
so  much  of  the  truly  eloquent  in  the  bosom  of  my 
sweet  little  half?     And  such  patriotism  !" 

"  Pshaw !  All  of  that  fine  speech,  I  tell  you, 
came  from  the  brain  where  such  evolutions  of  re- 
spect for  the  brave  boys  are  expected  to  be  in 
action.     We  must  give  honor  where  honor  is  due." 

"  True  as  you  live,  wife ;  and  now  what  is  to  be 
done?" 

"  Perhaps  Charlotte  can  suggest,  for  if  our 
fraternal  strife  has  not  awakened  as  much  patriot- 
ism in  her  heart  as  in  yours,  in  the  present  case 
her  interest  should  be  greater." 


I)()2  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

The  lady  thus  appealed  to  \vas  listening  with 
more  interest  than  her  companions  were  aware 
of,  but  the  queries  that  were  perplexing  her  were 
not  how  she  could  bestow  honors  upon  the  wor- 
th}-,  but  how  she,  the  unworthy,  could  escape 
dishonor  !  "  I  cannot  stay  longer,"  she  thought; 
"  I  must  away !  "  At  being  thus  appealed  to, 
however,  she  replied  blandl}^ ;  "  I  have  waited 
weeks  alread}'  that  I  might  bestow  my  congratu- 
lations, but,  as  they  have  dela3^ed  coming  so  long, 
have  made  other  arrangements  that  will  be  im- 
possible to  postpone.  I  have  been  loitering  that 
letters  from  home  might  reach  me,  and  cannot 
understand  why  Charles  does  not  write.  In  a  day 
or  two,  at  the  farthest,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
leave    for  my  winter  quarters." 

"Leave  here!"  exclaimed  ]\Irs.  Cheevers,  with 
surprise. 

"  Certainly.  You  did  not  suppose  I  was  to  im- 
pose nij^self  on  my  friends  as  a  settled  fact,  did 
you?"  She  smiled,  but  it  was  onl}^  as  a  feeble  ray 
struggling  across  the  chill,  damp  cloud,  where  the 
winter's  snows  were  gathering. 

"  But  it  will  look  strangel}^,  and  I  beg  your 
pardon,  one  might  think  a  trifle  suspicious  ;  it 
may  be  a  fear  lest  you  should  meet  them.  I  do 
not  say  that  I  think  so,  but  such  things  might 
be  said !" 

"  A  new  development,  my  dear !  Is  it  pres- 
cience or  imagination  that  is  now  whirling  in  your 
prolific  brain  ?" 

"Do  not  jest,  Hiram;  really  there  is  a  serious- 
ness in  all  this.  Why  could  you  not  have  been 
a  good  staid  old  Quaker,  like  your  father,  so  that 


THE    DARKNESS    THICKENS.  36-] 

you  could  have  been  sensible  when  circumstances 
seemed  to  demand  it?" 

"  Hardly,  according  to  nature,  wife,  to  be  old, 
like  my  honored  sire,  as  our  birthdaj^s  did  not 
come  in  the  same  year." 

This  little  humorous  parle}^  gave  their  guest 
ample  time  to  recover  from  her  shock  of  indig- 
nation and  alarm.  How  was  this  to  end  ?  Would 
her  departure  excite  suspicion  ?  But  it  was 
known  here,  without  doubt, — a  part,  if  not  the 
whole  truth — for  letters  had  been  received  from 
Washington  into  which  she  had  not  been  per- 
mitted to  have  a  peep.  Lillian  knew  where  her 
mother  had  taken  refuge,  and,  probabl}^,  w^as  ex- 
pecting to  meet  her. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  darted  up  through  her  ac- 
cumulating perplexities,  and  burst  from  her  quiver- 
ing lips. 

"  Do?  Why  stay  where  you  are,  and  welcome 
your  child  as  a  mother  should,  greet  her  husband 
cordially  and  sensibly.  It  must  be  done,  and  what 
have  you  to  fear  ?  Are  you  a  criminal  fleeing 
from  justice  and  dare  not  come  in  contact  with 
honest  people  ?  You  need  not  look  at  me  so, 
certainly  if  you  abscond  on  the  very  eve  of  their 
arrival  these  are  the  only  conclusions  that  can 
be  adduced.     Is  it  not  so  husband  ?  " 

"Face  the  music,  Charlotte;  face  the  music! 
If  your  native  zeal  has  carried  you  outside  the 
track,  switch  on  again,  and  go  ahead.  But  here 
I  am  wasting  my  precious  time  listening  to  two 
silly  women,  and  on  an  empty  stomach  at  that! 
Charlotte,  why  did  you  not  bring  along  one  of 
your  ebony  faithfuls  ?  I  am  getting  tired  of  wait- 
ing three  times  a  day  for  my  meals." 


364  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSED  ALE. 

"  Irene  is  slow,  but  I  ought  to  have  attended  to 
my  duties  better.  The  fact  is,  I  am  getting  out  of 
house-keeping  and  gone  into  the  business  of  mind- 
ing other  people's  affairs,"  and  the  good  lady 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Cheevers  is  right  on  this  subject ;  you 
cannot  leave  here  at  this  time  without  drawing  cen- 
sure and,  it  nui}-  be,  suspicion  down  upon  yourself. 
I  would  not  do  it." 

Supper  was  announced,  and  Mrs.  Belmont, 
trembling  with  emotion,  as  her  pride  went  on  bat- 
tling with  fear  and  indignation,  seated  herself  at 
the  table,  but  not  to  eat.  There  was  a  vein  of  prof- 
fered wisdom  in  the  advice  given  that  irritated  her. 
"  Can  I  not  judge  for  myself?  Am  I  not  sup- 
posed to  know  more  about  my  own  business  than 
others." 

Mr.  Cheevers  rallied  her  upon  such  a  loss  of  ap- 
petite and  the  saving  it  would  be  to  his  pocket,  a 
pleasantr}'  in  which  the  lady  endeavored  to  join, 
but  the  repartee  died  on  her  lips,  and,  excusing 
herself,  she  went  without  farther  delay  to  her 
own  room, 

"  That  woman,  wife,  has  her  own  reasons  for 
desiring  to  escape  doing  honor  to  Colonel  Hamil- 
ton and  lad}',  that  we  are  not  advised  of.  As  for 
me,  I  begin  to  pit}^  her  !  She  looks  as  though 
she  had  lost  her  hold  on  earth  and  her  hope  of 
heaven  !  " 

"  How  can  you,  Hiram." 

"It  is  true.  Perhaps  Lillian  ought  to  have 
written  to  her  mother,  and  yet,  as  she  declared, 
what  could  she  sa^^  ?  It  is  a  muddle,  my  good 
wife,    sure  enough,  still  we   must  keep  hei   here 


THE    DARKNESS    THICKENS.  'f>6i) 

until  they  come.     That  is  the  only  clear  thing  I 
can  get  ont  of  it,"  and  he  left  the  table. 

In  the  room  above,  a  tall,  stately  form  was 
standing  by  the  window,  her  dark  eyes  wander- 
ing with  a  listless  gaze  ont  over  the  gra}^  waters 
of  the  Schnylkill,  where  the  evening  shades  were 
slowly  creeping,  while  within  her  sonl  the  con- 
flicting elements  of  warring  tnmnlts  were  raging. 
"  O,  wretched  woman  that  I  am  !  "  she  repeated, 
"  What  power  can  deliver  me  from  myself!  Great 
God  !  If  Thon  didst  ever  pit}^,  pity  now!  Are 
there  not  stains  on  my  soul  that  He  will  never 
blot  ont?  Stains  of — murder!  O  miser^^ !  'The 
wicked  shall  not  go  unpunished,' — I  have  read 
it ;  it  is  true  !  The  God  I  have  offended  has  said 
it!  What  if  the  curtain  that  hides  the  last  seven- 
teen years  from  the  world  should  be  torn  away  !  " 
She  paced  the  floor  as  the  night  stole  in  and  cover- 
ed her  with  its  darkness.  O,  the  gloom  !  O,  the 
forebodings  of  a  sin-cursed  soul. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

LIGHT    THROUGH    THE    RIFTED    CLOUD. 

"  She's  gone,  as  true  as  you  live  !  The  carriage 
was  at  the  door  for  herself  and  baggage  before  I 
knew  a  word  about  it." 

With  these  exclamations,  Mrs.  Cheevers  met  her 
husband  the  day  after  the  events  of  our  last 
chapter.  He  had  come  to  dinner  with  the  cheering 
news  that  there  was  to  be  an  ovation  given  to 
Colonel  Hamilton  at  the  Girard  House  on  his 
arrival,  but  found  his  wife  too  much  excited  to 
appreciate  the  honors  thus  to  be  conferred  on  her 
pet. 

"That  looks  squally.  Perhaps  she  has  good 
reasons  for  skulking,  but  it  does  not  look  to  me 
like  her  original  shrewdness.  It  would  have  been 
more  natural  to  see  her  stand  by  and  fight  it  out. 
But  let  her  go;  there  is  more  room  for  the  new 
comers." 

The  matter  being  thus  disposed  of,  quiet  was 
again  wooed  to  the  peaceful  home  of  the  good  uncle 
and  aunt,  who  had  nothing  to  do  now  but  to  antici- 
pate coming  pleasures.  Colonel  St.  Clair  was  to 
remain  with  them  also  for  a  short  rest,  before 
finishing  his  journey  up  the  Hudson. 

"  Lillian  has  told  me  so  much  about  him  that  he 
will  not  seem  like  a  stranger." 

36Y 


oi'^S  THE    MISTRESS    OE    ROSEDALE. 

"Lillian's  lovers  are  our  friends,  ni}-  good  wife; 
so  he  will  come  in  for  a  share  of  attention/' 

The  hour  came  when  a  carriage  containing  the 
liapp}^  trio  rolled  up  to  the  door  of  Airs.  Cheever's 
very  inviting  home  on  Race  street,  where  Airs. 
Cheevers  unceremoniousl}"  rushed  out  with  open 
arms  to  greet  them.  The  host  was  not  far  behind. 
When  the  first  joyous  greetings  had  partial Iv 
subsided,  he  took  Colonel  St.  Clair  under  his  kind 
protection,  and  helped  him  gentl}^  to  an  easy  chair 
in  the  warm,  cheerful  parlor. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  called  out  Colonel  Ham- 
ilton, as  he  stepped  back  into  the  carriage  ;  "there 
is  a  little  woman  down  on  Twentieth  street  who 
wants  a  kiss  from  her  soldier  bo}-.  Til  be  back  in 
time  for  that  roast  beef!"  And  the  carriaQ^e  turned 
the  corner  and  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Well,  that  is  cool !  But,  wife,  we  are  not  so 
smart  as  we  take  ourselves  to  be.  Why  did  we  not 
have  that  mother  who  wants  to  be  kissed  up  here, 
so  that  it  could  all  be  done  at  once  ?  It  is  terrible 
to  have  such   things  dragging." 

"I  did  ask  her  and  insisted,  but  she  said  '  No  ' 
every  time.  '  Pearl  will  come  right  here,'  she 
declared,  '  and  it  is  in  his  own  home  where  I  want 
to  give  him  welcome.'  " 

"  Noble  woman  !"  interposed  St.  Clair  from  his 
chair  b}/  the  grate. 

"You  say  she  is  gone?"  a.-^ked  Mrs.  Hamilton 
in  her  aunt's  dressing  room,  where  she  had  been 
escorted  by  the  hostess  herself. 

"  We  tried  hard  to  have  her  remain,  but  no 
amount  of  persuasion  could  accomplish  it.  She  is 
dreadfully  troubled  about  something.  I  attempted, 
to  draw  her  out,  but   you  know  how  difficult  such 


LIGHT    THROUGH    THE    RIFTED    CLOUD.        369 

a  thing  would  be.  And,  having  watched  her 
manner  and  face,  I  do  believe  that  something 
weighs  heavily  on  her  mind." 

"  She  need  not  have  flown  from  me.  My 
mother's  reputation  is  sacred  to  her  daughter.  She 
should  have  known  this.  And  you  have  no  idea 
where  she  has  gone  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  She  said  she  had  been  wait- 
ing for  letters  before  going  to  her  winter  quarters, 
and  was  surprised  that  she  received  nothing  from 
Charles." 

"  It  is  too  bad  !  But,  auntie,  I  have  much  I 
want  to  pour  into  your  dear  heart,  for  somehow  I 
feel  that  in  stirring  up  its  pure  waters,  I  may  step 
in  and,  perhaps,  be  healed  a  little!"  and  she  kissed 
the  smiling  face.  "  What  should  I  do  without 
you  ?  But  I  fear  the  gentlemen  though  will  think 
we  have  deserted  them." 

There  was  so  much  to  be  said;  so  much  calling 
to  be  done,  and  such  a  large  circle  of  friends  to 
receive,  that  it  w^as  not  until  the  third  day,  when 
the  dinner  was  being  given  at  the  Girard  in 
honor  of  the  wounded  soldier  (to  which  Colonel 
St.  Clair  had  been  officially  invited),  that  Mrs. 
Cheevers  and  Lillian  found  an  opportunity  for  the 
"  stirring  of  the  waters." 

"  Do  not  let  me  frighten  you,  auntie  ;  and  may 
the  dear  Father  keep  me  from  injustice  and 
wrong  !  How  shall  I  tell  you  ?  There  is  no  use 
in  trying  to  smooth  it  over  ;  I  do  believe  that  up 
to  six  months  ago  my   child  lived!" 

"  Lillian  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  believe  it !  George  St.  Clair,  and 
the  whole  family  saw  her!  She  was  just  sixteen, 
and  had  the  same    eyes    and    ways  that  I  have ! 


370  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

It  was  remarked  b}-  all,  and  1113'  motlier,  at  times, 
betrayed  an  unnsnal  degree  of    interest  in  lier." 

"Where  was  this?  " 

"  In  Savannah.  She  was  the  adopted  daughter 
of  a  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  was  visiting  friends  in 
that  cit\',  and  fartlier  down  in  the  country.  I  did 
want  to  see  my  mother  so  much  !  A  dark  sus- 
picion  oppresses  me  !  " 

"  Lillian  !  " 

"  I  cannot  help  it ;  and  j^ou  will  not  blame  me 
when  I  have  told  you  all !  My  mother  took  that 
child  into  a  carriage,  with  onl}-  one  seivant,  a 
dastardly  coward,  and  drove  one  evening  down  the 
river,  in  sight  of  the  beach  ;  then,  getting  her  to 
alight,  that  (as  she  said),  a  better  view  of  the 
sea  might  be  obtained,  the  child  was  kidnapped  in 
the  darkness  and  borne  away  ;  and  with  every 
effort  that  could  be  made,  no  trace  has  ever  been 
found  of  her!  O,  auntie,  ///<?/  zuc7s  luv  cJiild ! 
Will  God  permit  such  a  deed  to  remain  uncovered? 
Will  not  his  anger  search  it  out?  " 

"  But,  ni}^  dear  Lillian,  3'ou  must  have  greater 
proof  than  this  before  3'OU  so  grievously  accuse 
another !  There  is  some  mistake  ;  she  could  not 
have  done  such  a  deed  !  Wh3^  not  write  to  Mrs. 
Gaylord  and  learn  where  she  found  the  child, 
and  all  that  she  knows  about  her  ?  '' 

"  I  did,  auntie,  but  was  answered  by  her  hus- 
band, who  said  that  his  wife  had  ver3'-  unex- 
pectedly taken  it  into  her  head  to  go  north  while 
he  was  awa3^,  and  could  not  say  when  she  would 
return,  etc.  Now  where  that  '  north  '  is,  cannot 
be  ascertained,  as  he  was  to  immediately  return 
to  his  post,  in  the  arm3%   I  suppose," 

"  Have  you  told  Pearf?  " 


LIGHT   THROUGH    THE    RIFTED    CLOUD.        oTl 

"  No,  I  cannot.  If  mother  had  remained  here, 
it  may  be  that  she  could  have  cleared  away  the 
cloud,  but  how  can  I  breathe  this  most  humiliat- 
ing suspicion  into  his  ear  ?  He  knows  of  her 
transaction  in  regard  to  onr  separation,  and  was 
magnanimous  enough  to  bury  it ;  but  it  would  be 
agony  to  tell  him  more.  He  does  not  know  of 
that  heart-breaking  curse,  that  would  be  almost 
unendurable,  were  it  not  for  the  great  joy  that  has 
come  to  me.  But,  auntie ;  what  do  you  think  ? 
Was  Lily  Gaylord  my  child  ?  My  Lily-Pearl  ?" 
Her  large  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  burning  gaze 
on  the  troubled  face  before  her. 

"  Your  child,  Lillian?  I  do  not  wonder  at  your 
earnestness  !  yet  I  cannot  tell  you  ;  but  confide  in 
Pearl,  he  will  know  better  how  to  counsel." 

"I  cannot!  This  work  I  must  do  myself! 
But-one  thing  is  certain  ;  my  heart  shall  be  satis- 
fied !  If  alive  she  is  mine;  if  dead  I  must  know 
it !  This  poisonous  canker-worm  has  been  for 
years  gnawing  at  my  very  soul !  My  convictions 
have  been,  and  still  are,  that  there  was  a  greivous 
wrong  done  me  when  I  was  told  that  she  had  been 
transplanted  to  a  purer  clime  !  It  was  not  death 
that  stole  her  from  me  !  " 

Where  was  the  subject  of  all  this  anxiety  and 
solicitude  on  this  calm,  hazy  October  day?  In 
Boston;  as  happy  and  peaceful  as  a  young  girl  of 
sixteen  ever  desired  to  be, 

Mrs.  Gaylord  had  received  letters  from  her  hus- 
band saying  that  he  was  glad  she  had  taken  it 
into  her  silly  head  to  go  north,  and  it  was  his 
opinion  she  might  better  remain  until  the  immediate 
danger  that  was  threatening  Western  Virginia  had 


.)<J       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

passed.  His  brother's  widow,  with  her  children, 
could  take  care  of  "  Birch  Wood."  Acting  upon 
these  suggestions  she  had  returned  to  Boston  and 
hired  a  suite  of  rooms,  and,  taking  Willie  with 
them,  was  ensconsed  amid  all  desired  comforts  and 
luxuries,  Tiu}^  was  entrusted  with  extraordinarj^ 
reponsibilities,  and  her  ^-ellow  face  grew  brighter 
when  cnstalled  as  mistress  of  the  kitchen,  whileLil}' 
superintended  the  whole  establishment.  Willie 
was  exuberant  and  Mrs.  Gay  lord  peaceful.  Rover 
had  at  all  times  his  full  share  of  attention,  and  his 
bed  by  the  kitchen  stove  was  soft  and  warm. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  often  called,  with  their 
sunny  faces,  during  the  long  winter  months,  but 
Mrs.  Ga34ord  seldom  left  her  warm  rooms. 

"  Here  we  will  stay  until  the  war  is  over,"  said 
that  lady  one  evening  as  the}'  gathered  around  the 
table  preparatory  to  an  hour  of  reading  and  listen- 
ing. The  wind  roared  threateningly  up  from  the 
"  Bay  "  and  the  snow  beat  outside  against  the  win- 
dows, but  within  that  comfortable  home  reigned 
peace  and  love.  Lily  Avas  again  by  the  great  sea, 
and,  when  she  sat  at  her  chamber  window  and 
looked  over  the  dark  waters  and  watched  the  roll- 
ing waves  as  they  dashed  upon  the  piers  in 
the  harbor,  the  old  days  came  back  to  her; 
the  dreams  of  her  childhood  ;  the  longings  of  her 
restless  heart  while  she  thought  of  the  beautiful 
lady  who  had  picked  her  up  from  the  billows  ;  of 
the  pearls  deep  down  in  the  waters,  where  she  had 
grown,  and  called  her  "  Lily  Pearl."  Should  she 
everknow^  how  she  had  come  by  that  name?  She 
was  "Lily  Gaylord"  now;  the  Phebe  of  other  days 
had  been  put  aside  among  the  disagreeables  of  the 
past;   except   with    Willie,  who    declared    that  she 


LIGHT    THROUGH    THR    RIFTED    CLOUD. 


•IT') 


must  ever  be  his  own  precious  Pliebe,  or  the  bright- 
ness would  be  all  taken  out  of  the  sunny  memor- 
ies; and  she  had  answered  "  call  me  what  you  will, 
my  brother,  only  let  me  live  in  your  heart  and 
thoup^hts:"  and  so  the  days  went  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A    STORM    ABOUT   THE   WIDOW'S   COTTAGE. 

It  was  a  damp  and  chilly  morning  when  George 
St.  Clair  left  the  home  of  the  Cheevers.  A  shadow 
of  pain  had  settled  down  upon  the  handsome  face 
of  the  heroic  officer,  and  as  Pearl  Hamilton  saw  it 
he  exclaimed  with  all  the  fervor  of  the  brotherly 
love  which  had  grown  up  between  them  :  "  You 
shall  not  go  alone,  even  to  New  York,  for  you  look 
as  disconsolate  as  a  rejected  lover;  and  what  if 
your  father  should  miss  you  in  that  terrific  hub- 
bub ?  I  can  get  back  to-night,  so  please  excuse 
me  to  my  mother  at  dinner,  Lillian  ;"  and  snatch- 
ing his  hat  and  coat  from  the  rack  he  took  the  arm 
of  his  companion  and  went  with  him  down  the 
marble  steps. 

"  Please,  George,"  called  out  Lillian  from  the 
door  ;  "  do  not  let  Pearl  get  lost  by  the  way.  My 
heart  tells  me  to  throw  the  old  shoe  of  good  luck 
after  you,  with  the  wish  that  your  visit  at  the 
North  may  be  as  productive  of  joy  as  was  mine 
nearly  eighteen  years  ago,  without  any  of  its 
shadows  !"  It  was  a  bright  face  that  now  beamed 
from  the  carriage,  and  as  St.  Clair  waved  his  hand 
to  the  ladies  it  rolled  rapidly  away. 

"  I  am  glad  after  all  that  he  was  not  obliged  to 
go  alone,"  remarked  Mrs.  Cheevers  as  they  turned 
to   enter   the  house.     "  I  am  fearful  his  poor  back 

375 


^)7()  thp:  mistress  of  rosedale. 

will  never  be  strong  again  !  In  my  opinion  his 
days  of  fighting  are  over." 

"  I  wish  those  da3^s  were  ended  for  all,"  said 
Lillian,  thoughtfnlly.  ''  The  papers  bring  us  sad 
records  of  late.  So  many  precious  lives  lost  ;  so 
many  loving  hearts  desolated  !  I  liked  Dr.  Wads- 
worth's  sermon  yesterday  morning  from  the  text 
'  show  thyself  a  man,'  but  I  could  but  think  that 
David  meant  in  his  living  rather  than  in  his  dy- 
ing !  It  may  be  noble  in  one  to  lay  down  his  life 
for  the  preservation  of  his  country's  honor,  but 
love  is  as  surely  bereft  after  all !" 

They  were  seated  now  by  the  warm  grate  where 
the  red  coals  were  piled  up  in  a  cheerful  glow,  and 
while  the  aunt  took  some  work  from  the  basket  on 
the  table  her  companion  gazed  pensivel}^  into  them. 
At  last  turning  quickly  around,  while  a  smile 
lighted  up  her  face  she  remarked  :  "I  am  dizz}^ ! 
I  am  reminded  so  often  of  our  little  trick  of '  whirl- 
ing '  in  childhood,  until,  unable  to  stand  we  would 
drop  down  on  the  green  grass  and  wait  for  the 
sensation  of  giddiness  to  pass  off.  But  what  is  to 
be  done,  Auntie,  when  the  whirling  never  ceases?" 

"  Fall  down  upon  the  grass  my  child  and  wait, 
but  be  sure  that  in  the  falling  you  gain  the  power 
to  wait !" 

"  True,  aunt ;  and  yet  how  like  Peter  we  are 
prone  to  look  about  us  while  walking  over  the 
waves,  until  our  faith  gives  way  and  we  begin  to 
sink!" 

"  And  what  did  Peter  do  ?  Sit  down  on  the  first 
billow  he  met  and  declare  '  he  was  dizzy  '  and  per- 
plexed ?" 

Lillian  laughed.  "  Not  much  like  Peter  am  I 
after  all  ?" 


A    STORM    ABOUT    THE    WIDOW'S    COTTAGE.       o77 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  in  the  lit- 
tle parlor  the  two  colonels  were  crossing  the  Dela- 
ware, and  were,  soon  in  the  cars  rolling  rapidly 
towards  the  great  metropolis. 

''  But,  Colonel  Hamilton,  you  must  confess  that 
it  was  not  pleasant  while  receiving  the  sympa- 
thies and  kindnesses  of  the  people,  to  remember  I 
was  wounded  in  the  army  that  would,  if  they 
could,  annihilate  3'ours." 

"  But  they   cannot !" 

"  That  does  not  take  away  my  chagrin  !  Here  I 
am  in  the  midst  of  those  whom  I  once  hoped,  it 
may  be,  to  conquer  or  slay,  and  from  their  hands 
receiving  the  '  coals  of  fire  '  that  are  scorching  ni}^ 
heart  instead  of  my  head.  It  is  this  that  makes 
me  wish  to  bur}-  m3"self  away  from  it  all." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow  ;  you  are  not  the  only  one 
who  ever  changed  his  convictions !  Just  make 
^'■ourself  comfortable !  See  how^  rapidly  we  are 
getting  along  !  Here  is  Burlington  I  wish  there 
were  a  boat  going  up  the  river  as  soon  as  you  ar- 
rive in  the  city,  so  that  3'ou  could  lie  down  the 
rest  of  the  way.'' 

"  I  am  getting  so  '  yankeeized '  that  I  could 
never  wait  for  the  slow  motion  of  a  steamer.  I 
must  take  the  lightning  express." 

"•And  be   at  your  destination  before  tea-time?" 

"  So  Ellen  has  written  me." 

"  Well,  take  good  care  of  your  heart.  This 
mixing  up  of  fractions  makes  very  serious  troubles 
sometimes." 

"  But  in  the  final  union  of  whole  numbers  there 
is  bliss  !  Why  not  work  out  the  sum  and  hand 
over  the^product  in  your  advice?"    A  merry  laugh 


378  THR    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

followed  this  query,  while  the  long  traiu  whirled 
on. 

There  was  a  happy  reunion  in  the  widow's  cot- 
tage when  Mr.  St.  Clair  returned  with  his  son  to 
occupy  the  easy  chair  that  had  been  especially 
procured  for  him.  The  mother  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  time  when  in  his  rebel  uniform  he  had 
bid  her  good-bj^e  in  the  far-awaj'  home,  and  her 
eyes  were  swimming  with  tears  as  she  looked  upon 
his  changed  face. 

"  They  did  not  tell  me  3'ou  were  so  thin  and 
pale,"  she  said  as  she  kissed  him  tenderl}- . 

"  But  I  am  ver}'  wear}-  now;  3'ou  have  no  idea 
what  a  night's  rest  will  do  for  my  good  looks." 
Still  the  mother's  heart  beat  with  a  low,  sad  throb- 
bing. 

Anna  was  placid  and  reserved.  Her  greetings 
were  cordial,  while  none  save  the  maternal  eye 
peered  beneath  the  external  calm. 

■'  Well  this  is  coz}^,"  he  remarked,  as  the  two 
young  ladies  drew  his  chair  close  to  the  table. 
"  Still  it  is  a  little  mortif3'ing  to  ni}^  masculine 
dignit}' — this  being  w^aited  upon  b}^  ladies  instead 
of  slaves !" 

"  It  is  the  wa}^  with  us  up  here,"  replied  the  sis- 
ter;  "and  all  3'OU  can  possibl}-  do  is  to  submit 
with  as  much  grace  as  j^ou  can  muster  for  the  pur- 
pose. Where  is  Toby  ?"  she  continued,  as  though 
missing  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  Taking  good  care  of  his  libert3\  I  have  not 
seen  him  since  he  concluded  to  use  his  privileges 
as  a  free  man." 

The  daj's  sped  rapidl}^  b3^  The  cool  winds 
came  sweeping  up  from  the  broad  Hudson,  while 
the  frosts  painted  the  trees  with  gaudy  tints, 
blighting  the  flowers  and  searing  the  green  grass. 


A    STORM    ABOUT    THE    WIDOW'S    COTTAGE.       379 

"  Are  we  not  imposing  npon  good  nature?"  the 
son  asked  one  morning,  as,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
his  father,  they  walked  out  among  the  fallen 
leaves  that  were  carpeting  the  smoothly  shorn 
lawn.  "  It  seems  to  me  we  must  be  burdensome. 
Why  do  we  not  go  to  our  rooms  at  the  hotel  ?" 

"Are  you  not  more  comfortable  here?  Airs. 
Pierson  is  so  kind,  and  we  have  all  become  so  fully 
domesticated  at  a  home  fireside  that  it  would  be  a 
sad  change  to  take  up  our  quarters  at  the  public 
inn." 

"But  Ellen  wrote  "— 

"  Ah,  yes — '  that  she  had  secured  rooms  at 
Maple  Grove,'  which,  after  all,  meant  here  under 
these  maple  trees.    But  if  you  desire  it,  my  son  " — 

"  I  am  not  the  only  one  to  be  considered.  It 
seems  that  the  mother  and  daughter  have  altogether 
too  much  work  to  do,  with  only  one  servant  in  the 
kitchen,  and  she  a  white  girl." 

The  father  laughed.  "You  have  no  idea  how 
easily  they  perform  their  labor.  Even  the  servant 
sings  as  cheerfully  as  though  she  was  mistress  of 
all,  and  indeed  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  who  fills 
that  important  position  in  this  home.  But  I  will 
do  just  as  you  and  Ellen  shall  decide." 

They  had  reached  the  door,  and  were  entering 
as  the  last  sentence  was  being  finished. 

"  Decide  what  ?"  interrogated  Ellen. 

"  About  those  rooms  at  the  hotel  ;"  laughed  the 
father. 

"  They  will  remain  in  statu  quo  as  long  as  they 
are  paid  for,  will  they  not  ?  As  for  me,  I  am  in 
no  hurry  to  leave  my  present  quarters.  My 
diploma  is  not  yet  secured  in  bread  and  pie  making, 
and  it  would  be  unmanly  in  you  to  be  the  means  of 
crushing  my  ambition." 


380  thp:  mistress  of  rosedale. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty  to  nip  in  the  bud  any  at- 
tempt at  conspiracy.  So  while  you  all  remain  here 
in  this  pleasant  sitting  room,  I  will  go  into  the 
parlor  with  ni}'  eas}^  chair.  Will  you,  my  sister, 
invite  Miss  Anna  to  join  me  there?  Unless  3'our 
influence  has  diluted  her  frankness,  she  will  reveal 
the  whole  matter.  At  an}'  rate,  this  must  be 
settled." 

"A  capital  suggestion!  Anna  shall  be  judge, 
jur3'and  all,  and  we  poor  subjects  will  cheerfully 
abide  by  her  decision.''  And  Ellen  darted  Rway 
after  the  young  lad}'  in  question. 

"  For  shame,  to  put  me  in  such  a  dilemma  !" 
exclaimed  Anna,  as  she  placed  the  flakey  crust  she 
was  preparing  on  the  pie  tin  ;  but  the  crimson 
wave  that  rolled  over  neck,  cheek  and  brow  did  not 
escape  the  notice  of  her  companion. 

"  O,  you  need  not  appear  so  much  shocked  at  the 
thought  of  meeting  him,  for  he  will  not  make  love 
to  you.  Never  fear  !  The  little  foot  of  Lillian 
Belmont  crushed  all  the  romance  out  of  his  heart  a 
long  time  ago.  So,  away  ;  I  can  finish  that  pie 
while  Rhoda  is  making  the  pudding." 

Anna  obeyed  without  a  word,  and  we  will  let  her 
enter  alone  that  quiet,  prett}'  parlor  where  the 
wounded  soldier  was  waiting. 

"  Two  hours  as  I  live  !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  as  the 
clock  on  the  mantel  struck  twelve. 

"It  takes  time  to  settle  long  accounts,"  replied 
the  mother,  quaintly. 

"  He  is  determined  to  go,  I  reckon;"  interposed 
the  father,  cheeril}' ;    but   Mrs.  Pierson  was  silent. 

"  Dinner  is  all  ready,  and  I  am  just  as  hungry  ! 
Can't  I  go  and  see  how  the  matter  stands  ?"  This 
question    was   addressed    to    the    widow,  who   was 


A    STORM    ABOUT    THE    WIDOW'S    COTTAGE.       oiSl 

sitting  by  the  window,  looking  ont  on  the  seared 
and  fading  grass. 

There  was  a  sad  expression  about  the  mouth, 
and  a  tremor  in  the  voice  not  usually  there,  as  she 
answered:  "Yes,  dear;  Rhoda  does  not  like  to 
wait  without  a  cause." 

Amid  laughing  and  jesting,  the  eas}^  chair  was 
drawn  out,  still  containing  its  occupant,  while 
Anna  disappeared  through  an  opposite  door,  and 
was  not  seen  until  the  family  had  gathered  around 
the  well-filled  table. 

"  Well,  how  is  it,  m}'  boy  ?"  queried  Mr.  St. 
Clair,  "  How  about  Maple  Grove  Inn  ?  Are  we 
to  leave  such  delicacies  as  these  for  others 
untried  ?" 

"Anna  is  chairman  of  that  committee,  and  is  to 
hand  over  the  report,"  replied  George. 

There  was  an  expression  on  the  face  of  the 
young  lady  thus  appealed  to  that  caused  Ellen  St. 
Clair  to  look  quickly  towards  her  brother,  who  met 
her  wondering  gaze  with  a  comical  smile  ver}^  sig- 
nificant in  itself,  and  made  the  sister  exclaim  :  "  I 
should  think  both  of  you  are  '  chairmen,'  if  one  was 
to  judge  from  the  amount  of  knowledge  that  seems 
lurking  in  your  eyes.  Out  with  it !  What  is  the 
report  ?" 

"  Patience  is  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues,  my 
dear,"  suggested  the  father,  gravely.  "  Such  an 
extended  consultation  requires  much  thought  in 
the  summing  up." 

"  I  conclude  by  Miss  Anna's  silence  that  the 
pleasing  ofiice  of  '  reporter'  is  conferred  upon  her 
unworthy  servant ;  therefore  listen  to  the  '  sum- 
ming up;'  "  and  laying  down  his  fork,  with  folded 
arms,  George   St.  Clair  leaned    back   in    his  easy 


))S2  TIIK    :\ITSTRESS    OI'    ROSKDALE. 

chair.  "  The  question  propoinicled,  with  its  pre- 
lude, was  something  after  this  sort  :  I  said,  ]\Iy 
dear  2:h\,  when  I  was  well  and  strono;  I  crave  into 
your  love  and  tender  watchful  ca:e  mv  two  honored 
parents  and  one  prettv  little  sister,  and  most  faith- 
fully have  you  regarded  nn^  trust ;  and  now  a 
fourth  comes  creeping  and  hobbling  into  your 
paradise  of  peace  and  comfort,  and  although  he 
has  nothing  to  recommend  him,  would  pra}'  to  be 
admitted,  not  to  3'our  care,  but  to  j-our  heart  and 
enduring  love.  Will  von  as  cheerfull}-  grant  my 
petition  in  this,  as  in  the  former  instance  ?  And 
her  replv,  after  brushing  away  a  few  of  the  cob- 
webs of  the  past,  was  '  I  \xi\],  with  the  permission 
of  my  mother,  who  has  a  right  to  be  consulted 
upon  all  such  articles  of  transfer.'  " 

"  I  do  declare  !"  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  sister. 
"  The  great  subject  of  remaining  as  honorar}^ 
members  of  this  most  hospitable  famil}^,  I  believe, 
was  not  broached  b}'  the  committee." 

"  As  to  m3'self,"  interposed  the  father,  "  I  am 
very  naturally'  inclined,  after  placing  in  the  hands 
of  our  hostess  a  sufficient  sum  for  ever}'  expense, 
including  the  perplexities  such  an  increase  of 
family  would  cause,  to  remain  in  our  present  quar- 
ters until  further  developments." 

"Very  likeljM"  interposed  the  mother  with 
with  a  beaming  face. 

Anna  had  left  her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
at  the  very  commencement  of  this  little  speech, 
and  the  hostess  sat  wdth  folded  hands  pale  and 
trembling  as  one  in  a  troubled  dream.  ]\Ir.  and 
]\Irs.  St.  Clair  looked  at  each  other  with  surprise 
written  all  over  their  good-natured  faces,  but  the 
sister  was  lost  in  amazement.     She  had  not   once 


A    STORM    ABOUT    THE    WIDOW'S    COTTAGE.       383 

thought  such  a  union  possible,  and  was  not  ready 
to  give  it  sanction, 

''  Mrs.  Pierson,  tell  me  frankly,  do  you  wish 
that  the  bullet  which  so  ignobly  tore  my  back  had 
finished  its  work,  so  that  the  present  summing  up 
would  have  been  avoided  ?  It  would  not,  however, 
have  saved  your  daughter's  heart,  for  she  loved 
me  before  all  that." 

The  widow  looked  calmly  into  the  face  of  the 
speaker  as  she  answered  tremulously  :  "  My 
daughter's  happiness  is  my  highest  ambition.  Not 
so  much  as  to  the  comforts  of  this  life  as  to  the 
assurances  of  the  life  to  come.  Wealth  or  honor- 
able position  socially  have  not  been  included  in 
my  aspirations  for  her.  Congenial  companionship 
and  a  true  heart  are  the  highest  blessings  of  life  I 
could  wish."  Tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  she 
arose  from  the  table  to  hide  them. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  let  my  dinner  spoil  at  any 
rate !"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Clair,  with  a  composing 
laugh  :     "  This  roast  lamb  is  capital." 

"  And  you  would  like  some  coffee;"  suggested 
Anna,  appearing  at  her  post,  while  Mrs.  Pierson 
returned  to  her  seat  at  the  table. 

"  Now  that  is  sensible.  Let  us  appoint  an  hour 
for  congratulations  and  proceed  with  present  du- 
ties unmolested.  George,  my  boy,  replenish  the 
stomach  if  you  would  restore  the  back.  For  my 
part  I  think  this  a  most  capital  arrangement. 
With  the  old  homestead,  '  West  Lawn  '  and  '  Rose- 
dale,'  which  I  shall  be  obliged  to  take  into  my 
possession,  will  yield  us  all  what  bread  and  butter 
we  shall  require — not  as  good  as  this  perhaps,  but 
it  will  do.  By  the  way,  I  would  like  to  know 
where  Mrs.  Belmont  is." 


384  THE    INIISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Gone  back  to  Roseclale  !''  sngcrested  Mrs.  St. 
Clair  with  emphasis. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it  !  If  she  could  indultre  in  such 
an  unwomanly  sneak  as  to  fl}-  from  the  presence 
of  her  daughter,  she  would  never  risk  her  neck 
down  among  the  bullets  that  are  Mdiizzing  so  near 
her  home.     No — no!" 

He  rattled  on  as  a  merry  accompaniment  to  the 
monotonous  sounds  of  knife  and  fork;  but  the  re- 
sponses were  few^  and  subdued.  A  hush  had  fallen 
upon  more  than  one  heart  in  that  little  circle 
around  the  well-filled  board,  yet  to  none  was  it 
dark  or  gloomy.  There  were  sunbeams  streaming 
through  bright  golden  tints  lighting  them  up,  but 
Ellen  St.  Clair  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  She  loved 
Anna,  but  had  not  thought  of  her  as  the  bride  of 
her  peerless  brother.  "  And  what  would  Bertha 
say  ?"     It  was  so  unexpected  ! 

So  intent  were  the}-  with  their  own  thoughts 
that  no  notice  had  been  given  to  the  dark  cloud 
that  had  suddenly  risen  up  from  the  south,  spread- 
ing itself  over  the  sk}^  until  a  fearful  gust  of  wind 
dashed  against  the  windows  and  made  all  start  to 
their  feet  in  alarm. 

"  A  regular  southern  hurricane,"  remarked 
Mrs.  St.  Clair.  "  See  how  those  trees  bend  and 
what  a  shower  of  bright  leaves  are  in  the  air." 

The  rain  dashed  against  the  panes,  while  the 
gale  blew  the  clouds  at  a  rapid  speed  northward, 
stripping  the  branches  of  their  gaud}'  dress  and 
strewing  the  faded  grass  with  a  carpet  of  gav 
colors.  George  St.  Clair  watched  it  with  mingled 
emotions.  It  was  noonday,  3'et  the  darl:ness  was 
oppressive.  He  saw  the  dense  cloud  sweep  over 
the  sun,  leaving  in  its  trail  the   haz}^   blue   of  an 


A   STORM   ABOUT   THE   WIDOW'S   COTTAGE.      385 

autumn  sky.  He  listened  to  the  fitful  wail  of  the 
angry  blast  and  thought  of  the  tornado  that  was 
at  that  moment  devastating  the  beautiful  fields 
and  groves  of  his  sunny  land,  and  the  spirit  of  re- 
bellion arose  in  his  heart.  "  What  was  the  need 
of  this  noonday  storm  ?  Why  must  war  rifle  the 
land  of  its  beauty  and  crimson  the  earth  with  the 
shed  blood  of  thousands  ?" 


^^i)M'p''^ 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A    PROUD    SPIRIT   BROKEN. 

Only  a  week  and  Colonel  Hamilton  was  ordered 
back  to  Washington.  The  right  wing  of  the  army 
was  to  swing  round  over  over  West  Virginia,  to  in- 
tercept, if  possible,  the  progressive  movements  of 
General  Lee's  forces  that  were  threatening  a  north- 
ern aggression;  and  every  officer  able  for  action 
was  ordered  to  report  at  headquarters.  Lillian  would 
not  remain  behind.  How  could  she  fold  her  hands 
and  wait  ?  She  must  work  ;  her  mind  must  be 
employed  or  the  dizzy  whirl  would  overpower  her. 
Besides,  she  had  a  mission,  of  which  all  others, 
unless  it  was  her  aunt  Cheevers,  were  ignorant. 
The  plan  of  operation  had  been  secretly  marked 
out  by  herself,  and  she  must  go, 

"  I  can  never  let  that  Mason  and  Dixon  line 
divide  us  again,"  was  her  closing  remark  after 
listening  to  a  long  list  of  reasons  why  she  should 
remain  in  her  comfortable  surroundings  amid 
friends  and  luxuries. 

The  fond  husband  could  not  refuse,  and  together 
they  entered  the  National  Capital,  and  were  greet- 
ed cordially  by  sympathizers  and  army  officials. 
As,  however,  we  are  not  writing  the  history  of  the 
rebellion,  but  only  narrating  incidents  gathered 
during  its  progress,  we  will  not  trace  the  march  of 
Colonel  Hamilton's  corps,  but  will  meet  him  again 

387 


o88  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

when  the  warm  days  return  to  deck  the  blood- 
stained land  with  beauty  and  breathe  freshness 
once  more  into  the  trampled  vegetation. 

There  had  been  skirmishes  along  the  line  of 
march,  fightings,  repulses  and  victories ;  and  Lil- 
lian had  not  been  permitted  to  fold  her  hands. 
There  were  the  sick  to  be  attended  to,  and  wound- 
ed to  be  dressed  ;  while  the  '  cup  of  cold  water ' 
and  the  '  oil  and  wine  '  were  needed  everywhere  : 
Whether  friend  or  foe ;  Confederate  or  Unionist,  it 
made  no  difference,  in  each  she  discovered  a  bro- 
ther, and  withheld  no  comfort  or  ministration  in 
her  power. 

"  You  seem  young  to  be  in  the  army,"  she  said 
one  da3^  to  a  beardless  youth  who  had  been 
severl}^  wounded  by  a  sharpshooter  and  was 
placed  under  her  care. 

"  Eighteen,  ma'am,  was  the  laconic  reply." 

"  Will  \'OU  tell  me  your  name?"  she  asked, 
while  tenderly  bathing  the  pale  face  and  combing 
the  rich  brown  hair  from  a  full  rounded  forehead. 

"  Rufus  Gaylord." 

She  started. 

"  Gaylord  !  " 

How  her  thoughts  flew !  What  a  sweep  over 
the}^  took  in  that  intervening  moment  of  silence  ! 

"  Is  your  father's  name  Hudson  Gajdord  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  is  my  uncle.  Do  j^ou  know  him  ?  I 
thought  you  w^ere  a  Northerner  !  " 

"  I  know  him  only  by  reputation.  Where  is 
he  ?" 

"  Down  in  Richmond,  talking  about  arming  the 
niggers,  I  reckon  ;"  was  his  answer,  while  a 
sneer  curled  his  lip.  "  Beechwood  is  only  a  few 
miles  from    here  and    I    want    to  be   taken  back 


A    PROUD    SPIRIT    BROKEN.  389 

to  it  as  soon    as  I  can    ride   so    far,  as  mother  does 
not  know  where  I  am." 

Here  was  an  opening  to  the  cloud  ;  should  she 
enter  it  ?       How  she  trembled  at  the  thought. 

"Is  your  aunt  at  Beech  wood  ?"  she  found 
breath  to  inquire  at  last. 

"  No.  she  is  in  Boston,  and  uncle  Hud  says  will 
stay  there  until  the  army  leaves  Virginia.  I  don't 
reckon  she  cares  how  long  she  stays  though,  for 
she  has  her  girl  back  again,  every  one  thought 
was  drowned,  and " 

"  Her  adopted  daughter  !  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  y-e-s  !  But  what  do  you  know  about 
her?  I'll  he  hanged  if  I  shouldn't  think  you 
were  her  sister ;  I  never  saw  eyes  more  alike. 
She  is  splendid,  and  I  am  glad  she  has  come  to 
life  again  ;"  and  in  spite  of  a  deep  wound  in  the 
shoulder,  and  the  presence  of  a  bullet  somewhere 
in  the  chest,  his  cheek  flushed  with  boyish  admi- 
ration as  he  talked  of  his  foster  cousin,  and  Lil- 
lian did  not  fail  to  discover  the  cause  of  the  deep- 
ening blush. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  have  been  saying?" 

"  Sure  that  aunt  Nell  is  in  Boston,  and  that  she 
has  Ivily  with  her  ;  but  not  quite  sure  as  to  you 
being  her  sister."  In  spite  of  her  emotion,  Mrs. 
Hamilton  smiled  at  the  ingenuity  of  this  remark. 
Her  resolution  v/as  taken.  She  would  return  to 
Washington,  and,  as  soon  as  possible,  go  to  Bos- 
ton, and  find  this  girl  who  bore  such  a  striking  re- 
semblance to  herself.  She  arose  to  answer  a  call 
and  found  that  her  trembling  limbs  refused  to  do 
her  bidding.  As  she  reseated  herself  the  boy  said 
kindly. 


390  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSED  ALE. 

"  I  reckon  you  are  not  feeling  very  well.  I 
wonld  rest  a  bit,  for  it  must  be  dreadful  taking  care 
of  such  a  lot !  " 

Trne  to  her  pnrpose,  witliin  a  week  she  had 
communicated  with  Colonel  Hamilton  and  obtained 
a  leave  of  absence,  and  was  on  her  way  to  Philadel- 
phia. A  little  breathing  spell  was  necessary  ;  she 
would  stop  and  tell  auntie  all  about  it ! 

It  was  night  when  she  reached  the  city,  and, 
taking  a  carriage,  she  was  soon  in  Race  street. 
Stopping  at  the  corner,  she  had  a  fancy  to  go  alone 
to  look  in  upon  the  peaceful  home-scene,  if  per- 
chance the  curtain  was  left  up  at  the  side  window. 
Was  auntie  thinking  of  her  ?  She  would  give  her 
a  pleasant  surprise. 

How  little  we  know  what  is  to  fill  the  next 
moment  that  sweeps  through  our  eventful  lives  ! 
The  curtain  was  left  up,  as  she  had  imagined, 
and  sitting  by  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  room 
were  two  ladies,  instead  of  the  one  she  had  ex- 
pected to  find  alone.  The  gas  shone  directly  upon 
the  face  of  Airs.  Cheevers,  but  the  head  of  the 
other  was  turned  away.  Still  there  was  no  mis- 
taking that  imperious  posture  and  stateliness  of 
form,  or  the  braids  of  jetty  hair.  It  was  her 
mother !  They  were  talking,  but  she  could  not 
distinguish  a  word.  What  caused  that  guilty 
mother  to  move  so  uneasily  in  her  chair,  and 
turn  towards  the  spot  where  her  daughter  stood 
trembling  in  the  shadows  ?  Had  conscience 
touched  a  note  of  warning? 

"  I  must  enter,"  thought  Lillian,  and  passing 
around  to  the  front  door,  rang  the  bell.  Mrs. 
Cheex'^rs  answered  it  in  person.  "Do  not  speak, 
auntie ;  it  is  I,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  as   the  door 


A    PROUD    SPIRIT    BROKEN.  391 

Opened.  "  My  mother  is  iu  there ;  I  saw  her 
through  the  window.     How  shall  I  meet  her?" 

"  Promptly  and  boldly,  my  child.  Come  right 
in." 

She  led  the  way,  while  her  visitor  followed 
trembling  in  every  limb.  "  V/hat  has  brought 
you  back  at  this  time  ?"  she  went  on  cheerfully  to 
ask.  "  You  said  nothing  about  it  in  your  last 
letter."  Mrs.  Belmont  arose  as  they  approached, 
and  stood  pale  and  haggard  before  her  injured 
child. 

"My  mother!"  Lillian  exclaimed,  with  out- 
stretched arms.  "  How  I  have  wanted  to  meet 
you  !     Why  did  you  flee  from  me  ?" 

"You  wanted  to  see  me?  Lillian,  is  that 
true?" 

"  It  is  true,  mother.  Why  do  you  look  so 
sternly  ?  Has  your  daughter  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin  because  she  felt  disposed  to  forsake 
all  others,  if  need  be,  and  cleave  to  her  husband  ?" 

"  Well,  do  you  understand  it  ?  See  where  I  now 
am  !  Look  at  the  shame,  the  disgrace,  the  poverty, 
you  have  brought  upon  me  !  I  am  a  wanderer 
without  home  or  country,  a  pauper  in  a  strange 
land,  and  you  have  done  it.  Once  I  would  have 
died  for  you  ;  but  what  have  you  sacrificed  for 
me?"  She  turned  slowly  and  reseated  herself  by 
the  table. 

"  This  is  my  mother !  Cold,  stern  and  un- 
loving !"  And  sinking  down  upon  the  sofa  her 
pent-up  feelings  found  vent  in  tears. 

"  It  is  my  opinion,  Charlotte,"  said  Mrs. 
Cheevers,  calmly,  "  that  the  day  will  come  when 
you  will  repent  the  injustice  of  this  hour.  If  all 
you  have  said  is  true  in  regard   to  yourself,  how 


392  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

can  you  afford  to  throw  away  so  wantonly  a 
daughter's  proffered  affection  ?  If  she  can  over- 
look the  wrongs  of  her  mother,  that  mother  ought 
to  clasp  her  tightl}'  in  the  arms  of  love." 

"What  do  you  mean,  ]\Irs.  Cheevers?  What 
have  I  done  to  her  that  should  call  forth  such  a 
remark  from  a  third  party  ?" 

"  O,  you  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  tell  me  to 
mind  ni}^  own  business  ;  for  whatever  affects  my 
brother's  Avife  or  his  child  is  ni}'  affair  ;  and  I  re- 
peat, it  is  your  dut}'  to  lay  aside  that  statel}^  in- 
dignation, and  if  Lillian  will  extend  the  hand  of 
filial  love,  it  is  yours  to  clasp  it." 

Mr.  Cheevers  coming  home  from  the  store, 
turned  the  current  of  conversation  into  another 
channel. 

"  Well,  well  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  recognized 
the  bowed  figure  on  the  sofa.  "  ]\Irs.  Hamilton,  as 
I  live!  Just  put  down  that  little  white  hand  and 
kiss  3'our  old  uncle.  Just  as  glad  to  see  you  as 
though  you  were  my  own  daughter.  How  is 
Pearl  ?  Now,  look  here,  Lillian,"  he  continued,  as 
he  perceived  the  quivering  lips  attempting  to 
answer  ;  "  none  of  that  toward  me  !  Anybody  who 
draws  the  moisture  out  of  those  beautiful  eyes 
while  I  am  around  must  answer  for  the  offence. 
There  isn't  another  in  this  great  city  to-night  who 
has  more  reason  to  laugh  and  be  glad  than  have 
you,  so  be  about  it  I  Let  that  statue  of  dignity 
mump  it  out  if  she  is  determined  to  do  so,  but  the 
wife  of  Colonel  Hamilton  has  no  good  reason  for 
tears." 

"  Hiram  !"  interposed  the  wife,  and  she  shook 
her  head  menacingly  at  him. 


A    PROUD    SPIRIT    BROKEN.  393 

"  It  is  all  very  well ;  but  what  brought  you  to 
us  so  unexpectedly  ?" 

"  A  little  business,  uncle,"  Lillian  replied,  find- 
ing voice  to  speak.  "  I  am  going  farther  north, 
perhaps  to  Boston,  and  shall  return  here  when  my 
object  is  accomplished." 

Mrs.  Belmont  turned  hastil}-  in  her  chair,  and 
glared  at  the  speaker  with  dilated  eye  balls. 

"To  Boston!"  cried  Mr.  Cheevers.  Well,  now 
if  I  were  a  woman  I  would  ask  '  What  under  the 
sun  are  you  going  there  for  ?'  " 

"  But  as  you  are  a  gentleman  you  will  wait 
patientl}^  until  I  can  tell  you  all." 

"Just  so.     Did  vou  come  on  the  eight  train?" 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  thought,  wife,  of  food  and  rest?" 

"  Stupid  as  ever!     I  will  go  immediately." 

Mrs.  Belmont  soon  followed  the  lady  out  of  the 
room.  An  hour  afterward,  while  sitting  at  the 
table,  where  a  bountiful  lunch  had  been  prepared, 
Mrs.  Cheevers  told  Lillian  that  her  mother  had  re- 
tired to  her  room  feeling  very  unwell. 

"  Probabl}^ !"  retorted  her  husband,  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  e3^e. 

"  That  is  not  fair  Hiram  ;  she  has  been  sick 
ever  since  she  returned  ;  and  I  think  she  was  fear- 
ful of  an  approaching  illness  or  she  would  not 
have  come  here.  I  went  with  her  to-da}-  to  see 
Dr.  Kehn  about  her  head,  and  it  was  his  opinion 
that  there  was  some  trouble  with  the  brain  that 
might  prove  serious,  and  you  know  that  you  have 
spoken  of  the  wild  look  in  her  eyes." 

"  And  have  not  wondered  at  it,  wife  ;  but  you 
are  looking  well,  Lillian,  field  life  agrees  with  you. 


1)94  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

Tired  though,  and  have  come  to  uncle  Hiram's 
for  a  little  rest. 

"That's  right,  ui}^  child.  I  onl}^  wish  you  could 
have  brought  Pearl  along." 

There  was  a  long  talk  in  an  upper  room  that 
night  not  far  from  the  guest-chamber  to  which 
Airs.  Belmont  had  retired  ;  for  Lillian  had  desired 
to  tell  her  aunt  all  about  it,  and  the  good  lad}/ 
listened  and  wondered. 

"  Boston  is  a  great  cit}^,  my  child,  and  what  if 
you  could  not  find  Airs.  Gaylord  ?  " 

"  Her  husband  mentioned  in  his  letter  the  name 
of  a  Air.  Bancroft,  merchant  I  believe,  and  through 
him  I  thought  to  learn  all  I  desired.  At  any  rate 
I  must  try  to  find  this  girl !  It  is  not  because  I 
am  told  that  her  ej^es  are  like  mine,  as  there  is 
nothing  remarkable  in  this;  mau}^  have  large  dark 
optics,"  and  she  laughed,  "  but  because  something 
continuall}/  goads  me  with  the  conviction  that  she 
is  my  child." 

"  And  have  you  not  told  Pearl  ?" 

"No,  I  could  not  bear  to  trouble  him  as  my 
poor  heart  is  agitated  ;  and  it  would  be  an  ad- 
ditional grief  to  have  him  treat  the  matter  with 
incredulit}^     He  too  must  wait  for  the  unfolding." 

"  But  your  mother?  How  will  she  ever  account 
for  the  3/oung  lad3/'s  disappearance  ?  How  can 
either  of  3/ou  forgive  what  she  has  done  if  it  is 
proven  that  Lily  Gaylord  is  your  child  ?" 

Lillian  started  to  her  feet,  while  Airs.  Cheevers 
looked  wildly  towards  the  door.  A  low,  wailing 
cry  as  if  a  heart  was  being  crushed  had  reached 
them  from  the  outside,  and  their  cheeks  blanched 
as  the}'  listened.  For  a  moment  the  two  listened 
to   their   heart's  throbbings    as    the    stillness     of 


A    PROUD    SPIRIT    BROKEN.  395 

death  settled  down  about  tliem  ;  then  a  sound  as  of 
one  falling  broke  the  silence.  Lillian  rushed  to 
the  door  in  time  to  clasp  the  inanimate  form  of  her 
mother  before  the  poor  head  struck  the  floor  upon 
which  she  was  kneeling.  It  was  true  !  She  Jiad 
been  listening!  The  upper  part  of  the  door  did 
not  close  tightly,  and  it  was  to  this  opening  that 
her  ear  had  been  placed  until  the  brain  reeled  and 
she  sank  upon  her  knees. 

"  O  my  mother  !"  almost  shrieked  the  distracted 
daughter  as  she  attempted  to  raise  her. 

Mr.  Cheevers  heard  the  cry  and  came  rushing 
up  the  stairs,  and  the  wretched  woman  was  soon 
carried  to  her  bed,  where,  in  a  short  time,  the  family 
physician  was  in  attendance.  For  mau}^  weeks 
the  proud,  erring  Mrs.  Belmont  lay  tossing  upon 
her  bed  in  wild  delirium,  and  Lillian  stood  b}'  and 
listened  to  her  ravings. 

"  I  did  not  do  it !  Look — there  is  no  blood  on 
my  hands !  It  was  sJie!  It  was  she  !  Let  me 
look  again  ;  yes — the  same  purple  spots  ;  Lillian  ! 
Lillian !  Wh}^  won't  you  come  to  me  ?  I  did  not 
do  it !  It  was  the  sea — the  wicked,  cruel  sea  !  O 
my  curse  !  It  has  fallen  back  upon  my  poor  head  ! 
It  is  burning  up  my  brain  !  O  God  !  But  he 
won't  hear!     The  fires — the firesP^ 

In  vain  did  the  untiring  watcher  breathe  into 
her  ears  the  words  of  sympathy  and  forgiveness, 
but  the  whirling  brain  caught  them  not.  The 
tenderest  of  hands  bathed  the  burning  brow  and 
administered  to  her  every  necessity.  It  was  a 
long,  a  fearful  struggle  between  life  and  death  ; 
but  when  the  spring  days  were  all  past,  and  the 
warm  summer  sun  shone  down  upon  the  fresh 
young  grass  in  the  public  squares,  Mrs.  Belmont 


39G  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

la}^  witli  folded  hands  and  worn-ont  frame  in  quiet 
helplessness  upon  the  bed,  where  for  so  niany 
weeks  she  had  tossed  in  frantic  delirium.  The 
poor  clogged  brain  had  been  relieved  of  its  heav}^ 
load  and  the  burdened  conscience  quieted,  and  now 
the  reaction  had  come  and  Lillian  again  praj^ed 
and  waited  ! 

"  If  she  would  but  speak  to  me  or  show  some 
signs  of  recognition/'  Lillian  had  said  one  day  to 
her  aunt,  as  they  stood  looking  at  the  pale,  wan 
face  upon  the  pillow.  "It  is  so  hard  to  see  her 
lying  there  day  after  day  so  still  and  passive,  tak- 
ing all  that  is  given  her  without  a  word  or  gesture  ! 
Terrible  fears  at  times  take  possession  of  me — 
what  if  she  never  recovers  her  reason  !  The  doc- 
tor has  hinted  such  a  possibilit}^  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, and  I  dare  not  ask  him  if  my  suspicions  are 
correct."  The  quivering  lids  were  slowl}'  raised 
for  one  moment  from  over  the  large  e3'es,  where  a 
most  pitiful  pleading  look  was  hidden,  and  the 
longing  glance  fastened  itself  on  the  troubled  face 
beside  her. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  do  you  know  me  ?  Speak 
just  one  word  to  3'our  poor  Lillian ;"  and  she 
kissed  tenderly  the  firml}^  set  lips.  Again  the 
lids  slowl}'  fell  and  the  dark  orbs  were  shut  in  with 
their  unfathomed  m3^steries. 

'■  This  is  dreadful  !"  and  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  face  the  aunt  turned  and  walked  from 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

UNFOLDINGS  AND  REVELATIONS. 

Weeks  passed  away  and  Mrs.  Belmont  was  able 
to  sit  for  hours  in  her  easy  chair,  but  the  once  ac- 
tive, energetic  and  massive  intellect  was  weak  and 
inefficient  as  that  of  a  child.  The  large  eyes 
would  follow  the  flitting  forms  about  her  with  a 
weird  wistful  look,  yet  she  seldom  spoke,  and 
when  she  did,  the  words  revealed  the  sad  truth 
that  the  powers  that  had  long  sat  enthroned  in  the 
realm  of  reason  ruled  no  more. 

"  I  must  go,"  Lillian  said  to  her  aunt  one  day, 
as  they  drew  the  invalid  chair  close  to  the  window 
where  a  cool  breeze  from  the  Schuylkill  could  fan 
her  pale  face,  and,  as  the  words  fell  on  the  ears  of 
Mrs.  Belmont  a  quick  flush  overspread  it.  The 
daughter  noticed  the  change  with  joy  and  a 
strange  wondering.  "  Mrs.  Jackson  can  do  all  that 
is  needed  to  be  done  now,"  she  continued,  with- 
out removing  her  gaze  from  the  placid  features. 
"  I  will  not  be  absent  more  than  a  week  at  most, 
and  Pearl,  you  know,  writes  that  if  he  can  obtain 
leave  for  a  few  days  will  be  here  by  my  return." 

"Pearl?" 

"  Yes,  mother  ;  would  you  like  to  see  him  ? 

There  was  a  struggling  among  the  buried 
memories  which  were  not  dead  but  sleeping,  for 
the  eyes  gleamed  with  a  new  light,  and  the  face 

397 


398  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE.     . 

resumed  its  look  of  intelligence.  It  was  only 
for  a  moment,  however,  and  then  the  former  in- 
ertness returned,  as  she  repeated,  "  Pearl  !" 

"  He  loves  you,  mother  ;  shall  I  read  what  he 
wrote  last  ?"  There  was  no  response,  and  taking 
the  letter  from  her  pocket,  she  read  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly. ''  She  is  our  mother,  Lillian,  and,  no 
matter  what  she  has  done,  it  is  the  duty  of'her 
children  to  forgive,  and  never  refer  to  the  past. 
I  am  anxious  to  meet  her  for  her  daughter's  sake. 
My  heart  opens  wide  to  take  in  her  love  and 
bury  the  whole  hateful  past.  Whisper  my  name 
to  her  gently,  familiarize  her  brain  with  associa- 
tions concerning   me." 

"  He  is  coming  to  see  you,  mother,  to  love 
you  ;  are  you  glad  ?" 

"  Forgive  ?      Did  he  sa}^  forgive  ?  " 

"  He  certainly  did,  and  he  is  true  to  his  word. 
Shall  I  tell  him  to  come?  "  The  large  e3'es  fixed 
intently  on  the  beaming  face  before  her,  as  if 
endeavoring  to  pierce  the  shadows. 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  mother  slowly 
answered  "  Tell  him  come,"  and  settled  back  in 
her  chair  wearied  and  exhausted. 

Ivillian  was  exuberant.  "  She  is  better,"  was 
her  conclusion  as  she  adjusted  the  pillows  and 
brushed  back  the  thin  hair  from  the  white  tem- 
ples. The  heav}'  braids  were  gone,  and  the 
queenly  bearing  lost  in  helpless  weakness. 

It  was  finally  concluded  that  Mrs.  Hamilton 
should  leave  her  mother  in  the  care  of  the  effi- 
cient nurse  who  had  been  in  attendance  during 
her  long  sickness,  and,  without  speaking  to  her 
upon  the  subject,  proceed  on  her  journey  to 
Boston,  to  return    as    soon    as    possible.     There- 


UNFOLDINGS    AND    REVELATIONS.  o99 

fore  on  the  following  morning  she  started  on 
her  exciting  mission.  What  a  threefold  cord  was 
drawing  her !  The  mother,  to  whose  helpless- 
ness her  filial  love  was  clinging;  the  idolized 
husband  for  whom  her  heart  was  pining;  and  now 
the  living  tendrils  of  a  buried  affection  had 
sprung  up,  and  were  twining  themselves  with  an 
unseen  power  around  the  vibrating  cord  that 
bound  her  life  to  earthly  loves  and  earthly  hopes. 
The  mother-love  had  awakened  with  its  pleadings 
and  would  not  be  hushed.  A  little  more  than  a 
year  ago,  and  the  brittle  thread  that  held  her  was 
feeble,  and  the  fibres  frail ;  now  other  strands  had 
been  added,  and  as  the  car  rolled  over  the 
space  that  separated  her  from  the  consummation 
of  her  long-cherished  hopes  she  thanked  God 
for  the  tender  hand  that  had  led  her.  The  great 
joy,  however,  that  would  sweep  over  her  soul, 
as  she  recalled  the  reasons  of  her  present  mis- 
sion, was  not  without  its  gloomy  apprehensions. 
What  if,  after  all,  Mrs.  Gaylord's  adopted  daugh- 
ter was  not  her  Lily  ?  How  was  she  to  be  sure  ? 
and  then  the  mother's  ravings,  her  wild  confes- 
sions ;  her  cries  of  innocence ;  certainly  these 
must  have  come  from  the  hidden  consciousness 
of  an  appalling  truth  !  She  sat  by  the  open  win- 
dow and  watched  the  receding  fields,  the  trees 
and  villages,  as  the  train  sped  through  them,  with 
a  sensation  of  alarm,  for  she  realized  that  every 
puff  of  the  tireless  engine  brought  her  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  acme  of  her  hopes  or  to  dis- 
appointment. 

How  her  limbs  trembled  when,  on  reaching 
Boston,  she  entered  a  carriage  and  gave  orders 
to  be  driven  to  the  Parker  House !     In  Boston  at 


400       THE  MISTRESS  OF  ROSEDALE. 

last!  In  this  boiling  cauldron  of  living  souls  should 
she  find  her  child  ?  What  a  thought !  What  a 
hope!  She  must  rest.  Sleep  alone  could  give 
her  strength  of  body  for  the  trying  ordeal.  She 
partook  of  a  hasty  lunch  and  retired  to  her  room. 
What  if  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  left  the  city.  It  had 
been  so  long  since  the  boy  had  told  her  she  was 
here.  Here  was  a  new  agony !  She  had  not 
thought  of  that ;  and  ringing  the  bell  asked  for 
a  directory. 

Bowing,  the  servant  turned  to  bring  it. 

"  Stay,  perhaps  3'ou  can  tell  me  how  far  it  is 
to  Mr.  Bancroft's  store. 

"Peter  Bancroft,  ma'am?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"He  is  just  one  block  away,  ma'am:  Shall  we 
send  your  card  ?" 

"  Yes."  She  had  not  known  before  what  were 
her  wishes,  and  she  wrote  her  address  opposite 
her  name  and  requested  an  interview.  In  a  half 
hour  the  servant  returned, 

"  Mr.  Bancroft  is  in  the  parlor,  ma'am,  and 
will  meet  you  there.  Will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  come  immediately  as  his  business  is  pressing?" 

Lillian  arose  quickly  and  followed  the  servant. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you,  but  I 
am  anxious  to  find  a  Airs.  Hudson  Gaylord. 
Are  you  the  Mr.  Bancroft  with  whom  she  is 
acquainted  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,  if  you  are  her  friend  I  rejoice  to  meet 
you  ;"  and  he  extended  his  hand. 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  her,  but  would  like 
to  learn  if  she  has  a  young  lady  whom  she  claims 
as  an  adopted  daughter?" 


UNFOLDIXGS  AND  REVELATIONS.      401 

"  Lily  ?  Certainl}^ !  But  tliey  are  not  in  the 
city."  She  started  and  he  hurried  to  say  :  "  She 
is  only  an  hour's  ride  awa}'.  You  can  get  to  her 
before  ten  in  the  morning.  There  is  a  little  hotel 
out  in  Kirkhani  where  she  has  a  fancy  to  spend 
her  summers  rather  than  at  a  fashionable  water- 
ing place,  and  I  believe  it  was  in  that  vicinity 
where  she  found  her  two  protegees.  If  I  can  assist 
you  in  any  way  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so."  He 
arose  to  depart.  Lillian  extended  her  hand  ;  with 
many  thanks  and  exchanging  good-nights  they 
separated,  the  merchant  to  forget  perhaps  the 
trifling  incident  in  the  press  of  business,  the  other 
to  her  lonely  room  and  rest. 

"  Yes — I  aui  glad,"  she  thought  as  she  closed 
and  bolted  the  door;  "  she — my  child — is  not  here 
and  her  mother  has  an  hour's  ride  to  get  to  her!" 
Peacefully  she  rested  on  the  threshold  of  a  new 
experience.  Her  heart  throbbed  wildly  with  hope 
and  fear  as  it  peered  through  at  the  coming  possi- 
bilities, with  new  loves  clamoring  to  be  fed  and 
old  ones  struggling  for  precedence,  and  yet  she 
slept !  The  morning  came  and  looked  in  through 
the  narrow  aperture  of  the  closed  shutters,  but 
she  did  not  wake.  The  gong  sent  its  warning 
echoes  up  through  the  broad  halls  but  she  slept 
on.  Kight  o'clock  and  a  loud  knocking  upon  the 
door  awoke  her,  and  bounding  from  her  bed  she 
answered  the  summons. 

"  A  gentleman  in  the  parlor,  ma'am,  and  wishes 
to  see  Mrs.  Hamilton." 

"  In  just  one  moment !"  and  she  hurriedly  made 
herself  ready  to  meet  her  visitor. 

"  The  train  would  leave  for  Kirkham  in  a  half 
hour,  and  Mr.  Bancroft  would  be  happ}'  to  see  her 
safely  upon  it."     This  was  the  word  he  sent  her. 


■402  THE    MISTRESS   OE   ROSEDALE. 

"  Mrs.  Hamilton  is  grateful  and  will  be  ready 
after  a  hasty  cup  of  coffee.'" 

So  soon  !  The  time  had  come  but  how  strong 
she  was  !  Not  a  tremor  shook  her  frame  ;  not  an 
emotion  quickened  her  pulse  !  Mr.  Bancroft 
assisting  her  to  a  seat  in  the  carriage,  entered  and 
took  one  beside  her. 

"  We  shall  not  be  late  ?  I  slept  so  soundly. 
Really  I  forgot  to  wake  this  morning,  and  must 
thank  3'ou  for  reminding  me  of  it." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  laughed  and  Mr.  Bancroft  looked 
into  the  beaming  eyes  and  thought  "  how  like 
Lily  Gay  lord's  they  are  !" 

"  You  spoke  last  evening  of  two  protegees  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  brother  of  the  young  lad}^ — and  a  crip- 
ple." 

"  A  brother,  did  you  say  ?"  and  the  heart  of  his 
listener  gave  a  great  bound  of  pain.  The  carriage 
suddenly  wheeled  up  at  the  station,  and  "  all 
aboard  for  the  West  "  was  shouted. 

"  This  way  Mrs.  Hamilton,"  and  her  escort 
handed  her  into  the  car,  and  wishing  her  success 
waved  his  adieus  as  the  train  moved  on. 

"Her  brother!  Then  she  is  not  my  child! 
Have  I  been  led  thus  far  onl}-  to  find  the  fruit  that 
allured  me  with  its  golden  brightness  nothing  but 
ashes  ?  Can  it  be  ?"  With  fearful  apprehensions 
the  hour  flew  by  ;  the  junction  was  reached  at  last. 

It  was  a  sliort  ride  to  the  hotel,  and  as  she 
entered  the  spruce-looking  village  inn  sensation  of 
suffocation  caused  her  to  throw  back  her  veil  that 
she  might  breathe  more  freely. 

"Is  Mrs.  Gaylord  in?"  she  asked  of  a  sweet- 
faced  little  woman  who  appeared. 


UNFOLDINGS    AND    REVElvATlONS.  403 

"  They  have  gone  for  their  morning  ride,  but 
will  be  back  in  a  half  hour  at  most." 

"  I  will  take  a  room  and  wait  their  coming," 
was  Lillian's  response,  and  the  hostess  was  ready 
to  conduct  her  thither.  It  was  a  pleasant  chamber 
overlooking  the  maple  grove  where  the  "  lady 
from  the  south  "  had  found  so  many  cool  breaths, 
and  which  now  presented  its  most  winning  aspect 
to  her  w^ho  was  gazing  with  anxious  agitation  into 
its  shades.  They  had  gone !  In  half  an  hour ! 
Could  she  wait  ?  And  yet  how  she  dreaded  its 
passing  !  But  the  wings  of  time  never  cease  their 
rapid  motion,  and  before  she  had  bathed  her  face 
or  removed  her  bonnet  a  rap  upon  the  door  an- 
nounced that  her  hour  had  come.  Mrs.  Gaylord 
was  ready  to  receive  her  visitor. 

''  Will  you  ask  her  to  grant  me  the  favor  to 
come  to  my  room  ?" 

This  request  was  made  with  trembling  voice, 
and  the  hostess  wonderingly  went  with  her  mes- 
sage. Then  a  step  was  heard  along  the  hall  and 
the  door  again  opened,  and  the  same  gentle  voice 
to  which  she  had  twice  listened  announced  "  Mrs. 
Gaylord." 

Lillian  arose  and  the  two  ladies  stood  face  to 
face  with  a  world  of  hidden  mysteries  between 
them.  Mrs.  Gaylord  extended  her  hand,  and  Lil- 
lian smiled  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  curious  landlady. 

"  You    are  surprised    at  this   intrusion   from   a 
stranger,  but    you   will  neither  wonder  or  blame 
when  you  have  listened  to  my  story,  and  as  it  is  a 
long  one  let  us  sit  by  the  window." 
Mrs.  Gaylord  affably  obeyed. 


404  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Have  you  a  young  lady  with  you;  an  adopted 
daughter,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes."     The  lady  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  know  about  her 
history  ?" 

"  She  can  do  this  better  than  I.  Shall  I  call 
her?" 

"No,  no!  I  want  to  talk  with  you;  but  first 
answer  this  one  question  :    Has  she  a  brother  ?" 

"  A  foster  brother  as  she  calls  the  noble  cripple,, 
who  is  now  with  her  in  our  private  parlor." 

A  gleam  of  joy  darted  into  her  beautiful  eyes  at 
this    clearing  away   of  the  shadows,  and  she  pro 
ceeded. 

"  Anothei  question ;  by  what  name  was  she 
called   before  you  bestowed  your  own  upon  her  ?" 

Her  listener  laughed.  "In  her  years  of  baby- 
hood she  gloried  in  the  appellation  of  '  Phebe 
Blunt,'  and  in  six  years  or  thereabouts  this  was 
changed  to  '  Phebe  Evans ;'  at  fourteen  it  was 
again  changed  to  '  Lily  Gaylord,'  the  one  to  which 
she  will  now  answer." 

"Why  Lily?" 

"  Because  of  a  little  fanciful  dream  of  her  early 
childhood.  She  was  born  near  the  sea,  and  lived 
in  a  fisherman's  cabin,  but  somehow  learned  that 
somebody  had  called  her  '  Lily  Pearl,'  and  from 
this  she  drew  the  conclusion  that  a  beautiful  lady 
had  picked  her  up  off  the  waves  where  the  pearls 
had  thrown  her." 

The  speaker  looked  up  to  behold  the  face  of  her 
listener  as  ashy  pale  as  though  the  hand  of  death 
had  chilled  it  with  its  icy  touch,  while  the  pallid 
lips  were  vainly  endeavoring  to  speak ;  and,  dart- 
ing from  her  chair,  Mrs.  Gaylord  exclaimed  with 


UNFOLDINGS   AND    REVELATIONS.  405 

alarm.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you 
dying?" 

"No,  no!"  she  answered  feebly,  as  the  reaction 
came  and  the  blood  rushed  back  to  face  and  brow. 
"  Not  dying,  but  entering  a  double  life.  Mrs. 
Gay  lord,  your  adopted  daughter  is  my  child  !  My 
lyily  Pearl !  Oh,  how  can  I  explain  !  How  prove 
to  you  or  her  my  assertion  !  How  my  heart  has 
hungered  and  starved  for  the  love  my  baby  awoke 
in  it !  Seventeen  years  have  I  endured  this  thirst- 
ing which  cruel  hands  imposed  upon  me.  O,  for 
strength  to  bear  the  change  !"  And  she  raised 
her  clasped  hands  supplicatingly,  while  her  com- 
panion looked  on  wonderingly. 

"  Let  me  explain,"  she  added,  and  went  on  to 
tell  as  well  as  she  could,  without  reflecting  blame 
on  the  weak,  helpless  one  far  away,  the  story  of  her 
wrongs  and  years  of  suspicion. 

"Is  Mrs.  Belmont,  of  Rosedale,  your  mother?" 
was  the  abrupt  question  that  startled  the  narrator, 
and  caused  her  folded  hands  to  tremble  under  the 
soft  pressure  those  of  her  interrogator  placed  on 
them. 

"  Yes;  she  is  my  mother,  and  is  now  in  Phila- 
delphia, a  wreck  of  what  she  was  when  with  you 
in  Savannah." 

"  The  mystery  is  explained,  the  problem  solved  ! 
Lily,  my  Lily,  is  your  child  !  I  might  have  known 
such  a  blessing  could  not  be  retained  by  me.  I  am 
selfish,  and,  although  I  pity  you,  would  rejoice  at 
your  continued  thirst  if  the  sweetest  luxury  my 
heart  has  ever  known  could  have  been  spared  to 
me.  You  have  a  husband  to  adore,  a  mother  to 
forgive,  a  God  your  soul  worships,  while  I  am 
starving,  with  none  of  these  things  to  satisfy  my 


406  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

undying  cravings.  Is  there  no  pity  m  your 
woman's  heart  for  such  as  I  ?" 

"  Certainly.  You  have  a  husband,  wealth  and 
position.  More  than  this,  God  waits  for  you.  How 
then  can  you  be  so  desolate?" 

"  Ask  your  daughter  by  and  by  why  she  never 
ceased  to  pine  for  the  '  beautiful  lady  '  that  picked 
her  up  from  off  the  sea  where  the  pearls  had 
thrown  her?  Did  the  bright  picture  that  cast  its 
glittering  rays  only  on  the  surface  of  her  unsatis- 
fied heart  feed  or  nourish  the  cravings  of  her 
growing  love  ?  Can  such  cold  star-beams  warm 
the  frozen  fountain  ?  Do  the  fleshly  ties  of  life 
unite  the  aspiring  soul  with  its  higher  destinies  ? 
Love  is  the  strong  cord  that  draws  us  heaven- 
ward. Can  woman  with  her  immortalit}'  be  happy 
when  its  drawings  are  all  earthward  ?  But  I  am 
troubling  you  with  my  individual  perplexities 
when  I  ought  to  be  lifting  yours.  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, tell  you  how  much  anguish  and  desolation 
3^our  story  has  thrown  into  my  prospective  future. 
I  was  lonely  and  sad,  and  she  came  to  fill  the  void. 
I  am  childless,  and  her  presence  has  satisfied  my 
heart's  longings.  But  it  is  over  now.  Come  with 
me  while  with  my  own  hand  I  tear  the  brightness 
out  of  my  life.     Come  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE   GOLDEN   CLASP   RELINKED. 

Lillian  Hamilton  followed  her  guide  with  un- 
steady step  along  the  hall  toward  the  little  front 
parlor  where  her  heart  was  to  take  up  the  broken 
link  which  had  been  for  so  many  years  severed 
in  the  chain  of  her  eventful  life ;  and  her 
thoughts  stood  still  with  a  mingled  sensation  of 
awe  and  fear,  as  her  shrinking  feet  bore  her 
forward  to  the  relinking. 

The  door  opened,  and  opposite  on  a  sofa  sat  two 
young  people,  evidently  in  close  conversation. 
Lillian  stepped  back. 

"  Make  omens,  go  make  omens,"  Crazy  Dimis 
once  said,  you  remember."  It  was  Willie  who  was 
speaking,    but    Mrs.    Gaylord    interrupted    him. 

"  Omens  will  make  themselves  sometimes  without 
our  help,  my  boy.  Lily,  dear  Lily,  the  hour  has 
come  for  you  to  gather  them."  Mrs.  Hamilton 
stepped  forward  into  the  room.  "  Here  is  a  lady, 
my  child,  who  wants  to  see  you,"  and  she  motioned 
Willie  to  come  to  her  as  she  darted  back  into  the 
hall.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  boy 
dropped  from  his  seat  and  sped  across  the  floor 
after  his  usual  manner,  for  the  old  timidity  had 
left  him  during  his  years  in  Boston ;  but  the 
tearful  eyes  of  the  visitor  were  upon  him. 

407 


408  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

When  the  door  closed  Lily  said,  "  Did  I  under- 
stciud  that  you  wanted  to  see  me  ?"  She  had  risen 
from  the  sofa,  and  now  stood  before  the  new  comer, 
her  large,  dreamy  eyes  full  of  wonder  and  amaze- 
ment, 

"lyil}^  Pearl  !"  fell  from  the  quivering  lips  in  a 
low  minor  strain,  as  the  mother  bird  cries  for  its 
lost.  "Lily  Pearl!  Aly  Lily  !  My  baby!"  and 
the  pleading  arms  were  outstretched.  With  a 
shriek  of  excitement  and  joy  the  young  girl  sprang 
forward,  and  tlie  head  was  once  more  pillowed  on 
on  the  breast  where  so  many  years  ago  in  infancy 
it  had  rested  for  a  few  short  moments. 

"My  mother!  It  is,  it  must  be,  my  mother!" 
Tears  such  as  seldom  moisten  woman's  e3'es  fell 
in  a  baptismal  shower  on  the  beautiful  face  that 
lay  so  lovingl}^  over  the  wildly  throbbing  heart, 
where  the  sweet  flowers  of  God's  purest  affections 
had  blossomed,  faded,  died.  The  minutes  flew 
past  on  airy  wings,  and  still  the  mother  and 
daughter  remained  clasped  in  each  other's  arms, 
and  heart  pulsated  against  heart,  and  life  mingled 
itself  with  life,  until  parent  and  child  were  bound 
together,  never  to  be  rudel}^  torn  asunder  until  the 
icy  hand  of  death  should  break  the  welded  link. 
Raising  the  head  tenderly,  she  looked  into  the 
lovel}^  face  long  and  lovingl3^  "  Pearl's  noble  brow 
and  expressive  mouth,"  she  said  at  last.  "  But 
they  were  right;  you  have  your  mother's  eyes,  my 
darling.  ^la.y  they  never  weep  such  hopeless 
tears  as  have  mine." 

"  Who  is  '  Pearl,'  mother?  And  who  am  I?" 
The  dreamy  e^^es  had  put  away  their  beams  of 
ecstacy,  and   the  old    wondering   light   had  come 


Meeting  of  Lily  Pearl  AxND  her  Mother. 


THE   GOLDEN   CLASP   RELINKED.  4U9 

back  as   she  asked  these  questions,  "Who  am  I  ? 
And  who  is  Pearl  ?" 

"  You  shall  know  all,  everything^  my  child  ;  but 
my  heart  is  too  full  of  its  present  jo}'  to  relish  the 
thought  of  bringing   up   the  hateful  past  for  one 
moment.     But  you    must  know.     '  Pearl '    is  my 
husband  and   3'our  father,  and  a   truer    or  nobler 
man  never  lived.     We  were  married  before  I  was 
as  old  as  you,  my  darling,  while  a  school  girl  in 
Philadelphia,  but  my  mother,  who  was  proud  and 
aspiring,  looked  with  disfavor  upon  our  union,  for 
he  was  the  son  of  a  poor  widow.      And  coming  on 
from  her  southern  home  she  compelled  me  by  her 
resistless   power   to   go  with   her,  leaving  the  idol 
of    my  young    heart  behind — forever    as   she   in- 
tended,   but  it    has  proved    otherwise.     In    '  Cliff 
House,'   by    the    sea,  you   were  born ;     and    as    I 
clasped  you  to  m}^  heart,  overflowing  with  maternal 
love,  I   said,  '  She  shall   be  called   L-ily-Pearl  {our 
names  combined),  and   then  they  took   you   from 
me,  and  days  after,  when  reason  and  consciousness 
returned,  I   was  told  that  my  beautiful   Lily  had 
been  '  transplanted  to  a  purer  clime,'  and  my  soul 
was  desolate.     We  traveled   in  Europe,  and  every 
pleasure  that  could  be  gleaned  from  social  life  and 
the  pleasures  of  sight-seeing  were  thrown  into  my 
years,  yet  my  heart  was  unsatisfied.    I  loved  Pearl 
Hamilton  ;  the  little  life  that  had  sprung  from  our 
union  had  grievously  torn  my  own  in  the  severing, 
and  nothing  could  heal  the  wound.    Added  to  this 
was  the  continuous  suspicion  that  a  bitter  wrong 
had  been  done  me.     The  more  I  thought  it  over 
and  reviewed  the  attending  circumstances,  the  more 
did  this   suspicion  fasten  itself  upon  my  soul.     I 
accused  my  mother  of  treachery,  attempted  to  draw 


410  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

from  her  some  explanations  regarding  certain 
things,  but  her  superior  power  always  succeeded 
in  silencing  ni}-  wailing  cry,  and  time  rolled  on. 
It  was  by  accident  that  I  heard  of  a  Mrs.  Gaylord's 
adopted  daughter.  George  St.  Clair,  whom  my 
mother  had  insisted  upon  my  accepting  as  her 
son-in-law,  joined  the  arm}-  about  the  time  that  I 
left  my  home  under  a  mother's  curse.  With  an 
aunt  in  New  Orleans  I  found  refuge.  Here  I  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  drowning  ni}^  long-endured 
sorrows  in  the  engrossing  cares  of  the  hospitals. 
Almost  a  3^ear  ago,  while  nursing  my  husband, 
who  had  been  badly  wounded,  George  St.  Clair 
was  brought  in,  who  also  had  been  laid  aside  from 
duty  by  a  fearful  wound.  From  his  sister,  who 
had  come  to  nurse  him,  I  heard  the  sad  story  of 
your  disappearance  and  probable  loss." 

Lil}'  had  slipped  from  her  mother's  knee,  and, 
sitting  at  her  feet,  was  gazing  intently  into  the 
dear  face,  as  the  dear  voice  ceased.  "  Tell  me,  O, 
tell  me!"  she  exclaimed,  pushing  back  her  dark 
hair  with  the  old  childhood's  gesture:  "  Is  Mrs. 
Belmont  your  mother,  and  my  " — 

"  Yes,  darling  ;  but  notwithstanding  all,  you  shall 
see  and  will  forgive  her !  Think,  my  dear,  how 
strangely  w^e  have  been  led  together !  Had  it  not 
been  for  that  terrible  experience  I  might  never 
have  heard  of  Mrs.  Gaylord's  adopted  daughter,  or 
the  resemblance  between  lis.  Then  how  strange 
was  it  that,  in  my  first  burst  of  bliss,  with  feeble 
hands,  not  knowing  what  I  did,  I  should  have 
fastened  to  your  fluttering,  struggling  life  the 
cord  that  was  to  draw  us  together  after  so  many 
years  of  separation !  I  had  called  you  '  Lily- 
Pearl,'   and    the  strange    appellation  could  not  be 


THE   GOLDEN    CLASP    RELINKED.  411 

lost!  Sixteen  years  afterward,  the  end  of  this  un- 
broken cord  was  again  put  into  m^^  hands,  and 
with  a  continuous  yearning  it  has  brought  us 
together.  Old  Vina  was  right !  '  De  Lord  will 
take  care  ob  His  childerns,  neber  fear  !'  I  know 
you  have  many  questions  to  ask  and  there  is  much 
to  be  told  you,  but,  darling,  Airs.  Gaylord  and 
your  friend  will  desire  to  come  back  to  their  room 
and  we  must  not  exclude  them.  First  tell  me, 
how  is  it  that  he  is  called  your  brother  ?  How 
did  you  come  here  when  you  were  left  somewhere 
on  the  Maryland  shore  ?" 

"  Because  of  my  love  for  the  sea  and  my  desire 
to  get  out  upon  the  waves  '  where  the  pearls  had 
thrown  me,  and  my  beautiful  mother  had  picked 
me  up.'  When  lying  in  my  trundle  bed  one  night 
I  heard  my  foster  parents  talking  about  '  the  five 
hundred  dollars  '  that  had  been  paid  them,  and 
laughed  as  one  said,  '  I  guess  her  mother  would 
not  think  her  much  of  a  '  Lily-Pearl '  could  she 
see  her  now.'  Lily-Pearl!  I  asked  Maria  about 
it,  and  she  told  me  that  my  beautiful  mother  had 
cast  me  off  and  hers  had  taken  me  in,  and  I  ought 
to  love  her.  But  the  pretty  story  grew  in  my  lit- 
tle heart  until  it  became  a  part  of  it,  and  I  lived 
and  loved  the  sea  for  its  sake.  I  was  a  pearl,  and 
had  grown  down  where  the  pearls  grew  and  the 
waves  talked  to  me  about  it,  and  one  day  as  I  was 
wandering  on  the  beach  I  sprang  into  a  boat  and 
floated  out  on  the  billows  where  I  had  so  longed  to 
go.  I  was  happy,  and  sang  and  played  with  the 
bright  sunbeams  on  the  waters  until  the  night 
came  and  a  storm  arose ;  and  O  how  the  billows 
roared  and  the  winds  howled  !  My  beautiful  dream 
of  happiness  was  gone,  and  I  sank  down  into  the 


412  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

wet,  dirty  boat,  for  the  rain  to  pelt  and  the  salt 
waves  to  dash  over  me.  I  do  not  know  when  it 
was,  but  Willie's  father  found  me  On  board  his 
ship  we  came  to  Boston.  Upon  its  arrival  he  took 
me  to  his  home,  only  a  little  way  from  here,  where 
I  was  to  be  a  companion  to  his  crippled  boy,  who 
has  been  the  dearest  brother  to  me  ever  since.  He 
is  four  years  older  than  I.  His  mother  before 
she  died  gave  him  to  me  and  told  me  never  to  leave 
him,  but  his  sister  Fanny  did  not  like  my  being 
there  for  her  to  support,  and  so  I  went  away.  Mr. 
Ernest,  the  pastor  of  the  church  yonder,  told  Mrs. 
Gayloid  about  me,  and  I  came  here  to  read  to  her ; 
here  you  have  found  me.  But,  mother,  I  can 
never  forget  or  forsake  him.  It  was  he  who  taught 
me  to  seek  knowledge  and  read  good  books  and 
love  God ;  all  I  am  he  put  it  into  my  heart  to  be." 

"  My  dear  child,  your  mother  would  have  you 
cherish  tenderly  these  earl}^  tokens  of  love.  But 
call  your  friends,  darling,  and  let  us  talk  together 
of  what  must  be.  It  is  hard  after  all  I  have  ex- 
perienced to  compel  my  hand  to  sever  a  single 
earthly  tie;  but  what  can  be  done  to  lighten  the 
blow  shall  not  be  withheld." 

It  took  days  to  clear  away  the  mysteries  and 
shadows  and  dig  thorns  out  of  the  path  where  so 
many  feet  were  to  walk  unitedly,  although  not 
together  at  all  times  under  the  sunshine  and  the 
clouds  ;  but  at  last  the  work  was  done  and  Mrs. 
Hamilton  was  to  return  to  Philadelphia  alone,  as 
she  had  come.  Here  she  was  to  meet  her  husband 
and  break  to  him  the  joyful  tidings  that  the  dead 
was  alive  and  the  lost  found.  Here  also  she  was 
to  make  ready  for  her  daughter's  reception  as  soon 
as  the  cold  winds  of  autumn  should  sweep  down 


THE   GOLDEN   CLASP  RELINKED.  413 

from  the  north,  and  Mrs.  Gaylord  desired  to  return 
to  her  southern  home. 

"I  shall  have  no  wish  to  remain  here  alone," 
was  her  plaintive  conclusion  when  the  results  were 
being  finally  talked  over.  "  No  more  music  les- 
sons or  German  from  poor  Mrs.  Rouche,  Lily,  and 
another  heart  will  grieve  at  your  going." 

"  Better  so  than  to  have  any  one  sorrow  at  my 
coming,"  and  Lily's  happy  face  beamed  with 
joy.  "You  will  remain  a  few  days  longer?"  she 
pleaded,  breaking  a  short  silence,  and  the  wistful 
eyes  seconded  the  petition. 

"  Until  after  the  sabbath,"  was  Mrs.  Hamilton's 
quiet  response.  "  Somehow  I  have  a  fancy  to  go 
to  that  little  church  yonder  ;  it  reminds  me  so 
much  of  one  I  attended  in  the  suburbs  of  a  Scot- 
tish village.  And  then  too,  darling,  I  have  been 
thinking  I  must  have  your  full  length  photograph 
to  show  your  father  on  my  return,  for  it  will  be 
hard  to  make  him  believe  my  story  without  this 
pretty  face  to  corroborate  it."  And  she  patted  the 
full-rounded  cheek  fondly.  "  If  Mrs.  Gaylord  will 
favor  me  with  hers  I  will  be  very  glad  to  be  its 
possessor." 

"Do  you  not  want  Willie's?"  The  mother 
smiled. 

"  Are  you  so  jealous  for  your  friend  ?  Certainly 
I  do  want  his  just  as  I  saw  it  yesterday  when  com- 
ing up  to  the  door  of  the  hotel — carriage.  Rover 
and  all.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture,  and  I  have  no 
desire  that  it  should  fade  from  my  memory.  But 
we  are  to  ride  to  his  home  after  dinner,  I  believe. 
Will  the  sister  give  me  welcome?  I  must  thmik 
her  for  the  part  she  has  taken  in  the  preservalion 
of  my  child!" 


414  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  met  tliem  at  tlie  gate,  for  she  had 
become  pleased  with  the  frequent  visits  of  her 
stylish  acquaintance  at  the  hotel,  notwithstanding 
her  indignation  at  the  interference  in  regard  to 
her  wishes  as  to  "  Phebe's "  remaining  "  where 
she  could  make  herself  useful ;"  but  that  was 
passed,  and  to-day  she  was  smiling  and  genial. 
When  the  carriage  stopped  Lily  called  out : 
"  Where  is  Willie  ?" 

"  Down  by  the  pond,  I  suppose ;  he  went  out 
immediately  after  dinner." 

"  Go  with   me,  mother,  will   you?     It  is  lovely, 
and  I  want  you  to  see  the  spot  where  I  have  spent 
so  many  hours  listening  to  the  waves  as  they  came  , 
around  the  sand-bar." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  consented,  and  the  ladies  alighted 
while  Lily  was  saying,  "  Fann}^  my  mother,  has 
come  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  and  care 
of  her  child  for  so  many  years.  Mrs.  Colonel 
Hamilton — my  mother  !" 

This  introduction  was  given  hurriedly  and  with 
a  tremulous  voice.  The  lady  extended  her  hand 
to  the  astonished  Fanny,  who  took  it  in  her  own 
without  a  word.  Her  e3'es  turned  to  the  face  of 
Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  answered  the  inquiring  look. 

"  Did  Willie  not  tell  you  ?  It  is  true  the  drift- 
ing waif  has  found  a  home  and  loving  friends  wdio 
have  long  mourned  for  her,  and  her  days  of 
orphanage  are  over." 

There  were  tears  in  Fanny's  eyes,  and  Lily, 
wishing  to  turn  the  current  of  thought,  said  play- 
fully, "  It  was  by  this  gate  that  ni}^  little  bare  feet 
entered  alone  to  reconnoitre  in  advance  of  ni}^  guide, 
to  hand  over  the  information  that  I  did  not  like  to 


THE   GOLDEN   CLASP    RELINKED.  415 

scour  knives  or  wash  potatoes,  and  I  '  wouldn't  do 
it  either!'  " 

"  You  were  very  good  to  take  in  my  poor  child 
and  give  her  shelter  so  long,  while  my  heart  was 
breaking  to  find  her.  I  have  a  great  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  pay,  and  if  I  can  cancel  the  obligations  due 
for  any  expense  she  may  have  been  to  you  or 
yours,  nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure 
than  to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Hopkins  found  her  voice  now,  and  with 
great  distinctness  informed  the  lady  that  there  was 
no  debt  to  pay,  either  of  gratitude  or  money. 
"  Willie  told  me  that  '  Pliebe  '  had  found  a  friend, 
and  I  was  glad,  but  did  not  know  that  a  mother 
had  come  to  take  her  away  from  us  forever."  Here 
she  broke  down,  and,  turning,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  Not  forever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hopkins,  for  while 
we  both  shall  live  the  friends  of  these  dark  days 
shall  not  be  forgotten  or  forsaken." 

Lil}^  had  placed  an  arm  about  the  weeping 
woman,  as  she  whispered  "  Fanny,  you  do  not 
know  how  much  I  love  you.  I  have  given  you 
any  amount  of  trouble,  have  been  selfish  and 
indolent,  oftentimes  grieving  you  with  my  bad 
temper  and  willful  ways.      Will  you  forgive  me  ?" 

She  did  not  speak,  but  an  arm  genth'  stole 
around  the  neck  of  the  suppliant,  while  the  ladies 
looked  on  with  moistened  eyes. 

Then  Lily  said,  "  Under  the  white  marble  yon- 
der lies  Fanny's  mother  and  my  friend.  She  loved 
us  both,  and  if  she  were  here  now  her  soft,  blue 
ej^es  would  brighten  with  my  great  jo}^"  She  had 
turned  toward  her  mother  as  she  said  this,  and  her 
own  beautiful  orbs  glistened  as  she  talked. 


416  THE   MISTRESS  OF   ROSEDALE. 

Fanny  bent  her  head,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
all  the  years  kissed  the  glowing  face  of  the  poor 
"  little  Phebe."  "  Yon  are  the  one  to  forgive,"  she 
said,  blnntly.  "  I  have  been  cold  and  harsh,  but 
it  was  not  becanse  I  did  not  want  you.  The  j^ears 
have  been  lonel}^  ones  with  3'ou  awa}^,  and  I  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  your  leaving  us  after  once 
more  being  thrown  back  into  ni}'  home  ;  and  you 
are  going  to  return  no  more." 

"  No,  Fanny  ;  we  will  ever  be  sisters,  and  you 
must  come  to  me.  Besides,  we  will  have  time  to 
talk  this  over,  for  I  am  to  remain  through  the 
summer  with  Mrs.  Gaylord,  and  will  visit  you 
many  times.  My  dear  mother,  let  us  go  to  the 
lake  for  Willie  while  Mrs.  Gaylord  rests  herself  in 
the  cool  parlor,"  And  the  two  walked  together 
down  through  the  gaiden  to  the  meadow  brook, 
thence  under  the  pines,  where  the  carpet  of 
fragrant  leaves  lay  soft  and  smooth,  until  reaching 
the  summit  of  the  gentle  slope,  Lily  espied  the 
object  of  her  search  stretched  out  upon  the  green 
grass  under  the  old  oak  tree,  where  he  had  often 
watched  her  fragile  form  in  the  little  open  boat  as 
she  gleefully  pulled  the  long-stemmed  lily  from 
the  clear  waters,  where  the  '  pearls  were  holding  it 
fast,'  until  she  was  hidden  from  his  view  by  the 
thick  cloud  of  scalding  tears  that  had  welled  up 
from  his  desolate  heart.  Lily  remembered  it  all 
now,  as  she  stood  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  him. 

"  You  do  not  know  how  sorr}^  I  am  for  him," 
she  said,  turning  her  eyes  full  upon  her  com- 
panion.    ''  He  will  be  very  lonely  without  me." 

"  My  child,  tell  me  truly,  do  you  love  Willie 
Evans?" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

CHANGES    AND    REVOLUTIONS. 

Pearl  Hamilton,  at  nineteen,  had  been  a  clerk 
in  a  flourishing  mercantile  house,  nobly  support- 
ing a  widowed  mother  on  his  limited  salar}^ ;  but 
at  thirty-six,  by  dint  of  industry  and  "  good  luck  " 
as  his  fellows  called  his  success,  he  was  the  owner 
of  an  elegant  home  on  Broad  street,  which  his  con- 
servative parent  refused  positively  to  occupy.  Be- 
sides this  he  had  a  good  business  and  an  income 
adequate  to  his  every  desire.  When  the  call  was 
made  for  seventy-five  thousand  men  to  maintain 
the  dignity  of  a  free  people  he  hastened  to  enroll 
his  name.  "  Why  not  ?"  he  inquired  of  his  weep- 
ing mother,  who  protested  against  the  separation ; 
"  I  leave  only  you  to  mourn  me  if  I  find  a  soldier's 
grave,  and  what  can  this  short  existence  do  for  me 
but  to  crown  it  with  duties  well  done  ?  There  are 
not  many  who  would  have  fewer  ties  to  break  or  a 
less  number  of  hearts  to  make  wretched."  He 
went,  and  in  the  first  great  battle  was  taken  from 
the  ranks  helpless  as  we  have  seen. 

Mrs.  Hamilton  returned  to  her  friends  in  Phila- 
delphia buo3^ant  and  happy.  Still  it  was  sad  for 
her  to  look  upon  the  wreck  of  a  once  proud  intel- 
lect, and  wheu  the  mother's  e37es  turned  upon  her 
with  their  greetings  she  was  glad  that  it  had  been 
in    her  heart  to    smooth   over  the  parent's  trans- 

417 


418  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

gressioiis.  But  how  would  Pearl  feel  ?  How 
could  she  reconcile  him  to  all  that  had  been  ? 
Would  he  forgive  when  the  whole  truth  was  re- 
vealed ?  These  thoughts  troubled  her,  and  when 
at  last  he  arrived  in  the  city  on  an  unlimited 
leave,  and  she  looked  into  his  fine  manly  face,  her 
heart  rebuked  her  for  the  distrust  she  had  ex- 
perienced. Airs.  Cheevers  had  been  told  the  whole 
story  of  the  finding  and  waiting,  and  the  uncle 
had  many  times  vented  his  indignation  at  "  the 
foolish  idea  of  leaving  her  so  near  the  water,  where 
she  might  at  any  time  be  compelled  through  in- 
clination or  force  of  arms  to  take  another  ride  not 
quite  so  successful  in  its  ending,"  but  Lillian  had 
said  :  "I  could  not  bring  her  here  dear  uncle  just 
at  this  time,  for  fear  the  struggling  intellect  would 
again  totter.  Then  Pearl — how  could  I  present 
her  to  him  ?  It  is  better  as  it  is,  for  I  want  my 
husband's  advice  regarding  the  future." 

"  Woman's  propensity  !  Delightful  independ- 
ence when  the  current  is  all  the  right  wa}' !  But 
I  tell  you,  Lillian,  I  want  to  see  that  girl  !  The 
same  independent  looking  little  queen  that  her 
mother  used  to  be  !  And  this  bo}^ — he  has  a  fine 
head,  and  without  doubt  is  a  smart  young  fel- 
low ;"  and  he  handed  back  the  photographs  at 
which  he  had  been  gazing. 

"  Airs.  Gaylord  has  such  a  pensive  expression 
on  her  face  that  one  might  imagine  her  the  pos- 
sessor of  some  secret  sorrow,"  remarked  the  wife, 
thoughtfully.      "  Her  eyes  and  compressed  lips." 

"  Not  sad  perhaps,  auntie,  but  disappointed ! 
As  nearly  as  I  could  understand  by  the  long  con- 
versations we  had  together  she  belongs  to  that 
class  of  mature  women  who  in  early  years  dressed 


CHANGES   AND   REVOLUTIONS.  419 

up  tlieir  future  in  spotless  white,  with  very  bright 
adornings,  and  because  they  found  it  wearing  a 
most  common,  practical  garb,  turned  away  from 
its  proffers  of  good  to  grieve  and  grovv^  discon- 
tented. Mrs,  Gaylord  has  a  truly  poetical  mind, 
whose  creations  are  pure  and  ideal.  She  thought 
love  was  a  holy  aspiration  unmixed  with  earthly 
blemishes,  but  has  awakened  to  the  realization  of 
her  mistake,  therefore  cannot  be  reconciled  to  the 
practical  side  of  life.  Her  last  words  at  parting 
unsealed  the  book  of  her  history.  "Good-bye!" 
she  said  :  'If  a  heart  that  is  feasting  can  pity  a 
hungry,  starving  one  then  think  of  me  !'  " 

"Poor  soul;  I  am  sorr}^  for  her!"  remarked 
Mrs.  Cheevers  sympathetically. 

"  Because  of  the  bond  of  sympathy  twisted  out 
of  a  similar  experience,  I  suppose,"  laughed  the 
husband  as  he  arose  to  leave  the  room.  "  B}-  the 
way,  I  imagine  that  Colonel  Hamilton  will  be  here 
to-da}',  wife;  shall  I  send  up  something  nice  from 
the  market  ?" 

"  Not  before  to-morrow  morning,  uncle ;  he 
writes  he  will  take  the  night  train  from  Washing- 
ton to  save  time  !" 

"  Horrors  !  He  is  as  slow  as  molasses  in  win- 
ter;" and  the  front  door  gave  an  expressive  bang 
as  it  closed  behind  him. 

Colonel  Hamilton  arrived  in  due  time,  however, 
and  was  received  with  open  arms.  "  Tell  her  I 
have  come,  Lillian,"  he  said,  before  proceeding  to 
the  invalid's  room.  "I  am  in  a  hurry  to  meet 
her.  The  shock  may  be  too  great  if  I  go  unan- 
nounced," 

Ivillian  obeyed  and  sprang  with  light  step  up 
the  stairway  and  entered  her  mother's  room.     She 


420  THK    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

was  sitting  b}^  the  window  while  Mrs.  Jackson 
was  pnttiiig  the  finishing  tonches  to  her  toilet, 
for,  weak  as  were  her  faculties,  pride  had  not  be- 
come inactive.  Her  dress  must  be  perfect  and  her 
adornings  ample  as  in  other  days. 

"  How  nicely  you  are  looking  this  beautiful 
morning,"  said  the  daughter,  adjusting  the  rich 
lace  at  the  throat.  "  All  read}'  for  company  I  see 
— whom  shall  I  invite  ?" 

The  large  eyes  looked  steadily  into  the  beaming 
face  for  a  moment,  then  as  the}^  turned  languidly 
away  said,  hesitatingl}-  :    "  Charles." 

"  You  want  to  see  your  bo}^,  don't  you  mother  ? 
Well  3'ou  shall  if  he  can  be  found  !  He  was  at 
Uncle  Stanley's  the  last  I  heard  of  him.  We  will 
look  him  up  by  and  by."  A  smile  darted  quickly 
over  the  pale  face. 

"  Is  there  no  one  else  you  would  like  to  see  ? 
What  if  Pearl  should  come  ;  shall  I  bring  him  to 
3'ou  ?"  x'\gain  the  eyes  darted  a  keen  glance  into 
the  inquiring  face.  "You  will  love  him  ;  he  is  so 
good  and  forgiving!" 

"Forgive?  No!  no!  Pearl, — Can  he  forgive?" 
And  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  He  will  forgive  !  It  is  all  over  now,  and  we 
are  very  happy.  Let  me  bring  him  to  you,  and 
from  his  own  lips  you  shall  hear  it.     Alay    I  ?  " 

"No!  no!  I  was  wicked,  cruel  !  He  cannot, 
no,  he  cannot!"  And  the  statel}'  head  dropped 
wearily  upon  her  hand,  while  the  elbow  rested 
on  the  arm  of  her  easy  chair. 

"How  nice  that  dainty  cap,  with  its  bright  ribbons, 
makes  you  look.  He  will  be  proud  of  our  mother, 
and  it  will  make  me  so  happy  !  " 

"  You  happ3^  ?  " 


CHANGES   AND    REVOLUTIONS.  421 

"  Yes,  mother ;  your  Lillian ;  may  I  go  for 
him?" 

There  was  a  long  pause,  for  the  poor  brain  was 
struggling  with  itself,  as  one  battles  with  sleep 
when  the  morning  dawns  The  answer  came  at 
last, 

"  Yes,  go  get — Pearl.     I  am  ready  !  " 

Lillian  smoothed  the  soft  dark  hair,  petted  her 
sunken  cheek  whith  her  white  hand,  and,  as  she 
kissed  the    broad    forehead,    remarked    playfully, 

"  You  are  as  pretty  as  a  young  girl  waiting  for 
her  lover." 

She  encountered  her  husband  just  outside  the 
door.  "  Come  in,"  she  said,  "  mother  is  waiting  to 
see  you  ;"  and,  for  the  first  time  Pearl  Hamilton 
stood  in  the  presence  of  Mrs,  Belmont. 

With  a  quick  step  he  approached  her  chair,  and 
kneeling  at  her  feet,  said  gently,  "  Mother,  bless 
your  son,  it  was  I  who  disappointed  you,  I  who 
tempted  you  to  do  wrong  ;  will  you  forgive  me  ? 
There  have  been  dark  clouds,  but  they  are  gone 
now ;  put  your  hand  on  my  head  and  call  me 
Pearl,  this  will  make  us  happy." 

"  She  did  not  move  or  raise  her  hand,  but  sat 
motionless  as  a  marble  statue,  with  her  gaze 
riveted  on  the  upturned  face. 

Lillian  took  the  thin  hand  and  laid  it  tenderly 
on  the  bowed  head  as  she  whispered,  "  forgive 
him.  Mother." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed,  drawing  it  quickly 
back.  "  Forgive  ?  "  I  did  not  know  !  See  !  there 
is  no  blood  on  my  hand ;  look !  "  and  she  held 
it  up  before  the  wondering  suppliant,  who  turned 
his  inquiring  eyes  towards  his  trembling  wife. 


422  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  I  did  uot  do  it !  "  she  continued  ;  ''  'twas  the 
sea — the  wicked  sea  !  Forgive  ?  O  God  !  But 
He  will  not  hear  me  !  I  did  not  do  it !  "  and  the 
head  sank  back  upon  its  resting  ^Dlace. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  come  ;  how  her  mind  wan- 
ders !"  whispered  Colonel  Hamilton,  rising. 

"  Mother,  listen  to  me,"  said  Lillian,  taking  the 
hand  which  laj^  so  motionless  on  the  rich  dress, 
"  I  know  there  is  no  blood  there,  for  the  sea  was 
not  wicked,  and  the  little  boat  was  taken  care  of 
by  the  precious  One,  who  will  hear  when  3'ou 
call.  There  is  much  for  you  to  know  that  will 
make  you  happ}' ;  but  first  let  us  brush  the  cob- 
webs out  of  the  present.  Old  \'ina  would  say, 
'  Bress  de  Lord  for  M-hat  3'e  now  hab,'  and  3-ou 
have  not  made  me  happ}-  3'et  b3'  receiving  and 
loving  ni3^  husband.  Open  3'our  arms,  mother,  to 
3^our  son,  for  he  is  waiting." 

She  raised  her  head,  and  with  oustretched  arms 
said,  plaintivel3',  "  My  son,  m3^  son  !" 

The  strong  arms  of  love  and  forgiveness  were 
thrown  about  her,  and,  wear3'  as  a  child,  she  laid 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  remained  motion- 
less as  a  sleeping  infant.  He  w-ould  not  disturb 
her  and  the  moments  went  slowly  by. 

"  Put  me  on  the  bed,"  she  said  at  last ;  the 
sea  ! — O  the  sea  !  " 

The  arms  that  were  folding  her  so  genti37,  lifted 
her  in  their  strong  grasp,  la3'ing  her  gentl3^  on  the 
bed,  where,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  she  lay 
motionless. 

"  I  think  3'OU  may  better  leave  her  now,"  re- 
marked ]\Irs.  Jackson,  coming  in  at  the  heav3^ 
tread.  "  She  needs  rest^  and  a  little  sleep  wnll 
refresh  her." 


CHANGES    AND    REVOLUTIONS.  423 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  find  her  as  she  is,"  remark- 
ed Colonel  Hamilton,  as  they  seated  themselves 
in  tlie  parlor  below.  "What  did  she  mean  about 
the  '  sea,'  and  the  '  blood  on  her  hands,'  Lillian  ? 
I  noticed  3^on  understood  it  all." 

"  Yes,  Pearl,  I  do  understand  !  You  are  to  know 
as  well  as  I.  But  how  can  I  tell  you  !  O,  my 
husband,  there  is  much  yet  to  be  forgiven  !  Is 
your  heart  large  enough  for  the  demands  to  be 
made  upon  it  ?" 

"  You  startle  me,  Lillian  !  Do  not  make  me 
fear  for  the  sanity  of  my  darlitig  wife  !  What  can 
there  be  that  will  draw  harder  upon  my  powers 
of  forgiveness  than  what  I  have  already  experi- 
enced ?  Do  not  fill  those  beautiful  eyes  with  such 
a  strange  look.  I  am  Pearl  Hamilton,  who  has 
become  familiar  with  injustice  and  wrongs;  and  if 
there  are  more  to  confront,  know  then  that  they  can- 
not daunt  or  alarm  me  !    I  wait,  Lillian,  what  is  it? 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  surprise  and  ad- 
miration. "  And  this  noblest  type  of  man  is  my 
husband  !  "  she  said,  earnestly.  "  I  will  tell  you 
about  my  trip  to  Boston." 

"  Not  now  ;  I  can  wait  for  that.  What  about 
the  sea?  " 

"  We  must  go  around  a  little  to  get  there,  so 
permit  me  to  lead  as  I  choose." 

With  an  air  of  martyrdom  he  folded  his  arms 
over  the  golden  bands  of  his  military  coat  and 
prepared  to  suffer. 

"You  have  never  once  inquired  as  to  my  busi- 
ness. A  careful  officer  should  be  more  interested 
in  the  affairs  of  those  under  his  command.' 

"  Well,  imagine  my  interest  wide  awake,  and 
hurry  on  to  the  sea." 


424:  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDAEE. 

'I  will  not  trifle  with  you,  Pearl.  I  went  in 
search  of  a  young  girl  in  w^hose  history  I  had  be- 
come ncrvousl}^  interested.  George  and  Ellen  St. 
Clair  told  iiu  about  her;  and  in  Virginia  a  young 
soldier,  who  was  brought  to  the  hospital,  added 
some  information  that  awakened  an  uncontrolable 
desire  in  my  heart  to  see  her.  I  went  to  Boston 
for  that  purpose." 

"  Woman's  curiosity  !  "  he  laughed.  "  Did  you 
find  her?" 

"  I  did." 

''What  was  she  like?" 

"  I  have  her  picture.     Shall  I  show  it  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  will  hasten  you  to  the  sea." 

Lillian  arose,  and  taking  from  the  table  the 
three  photographs,  returned  to  the  sofa.  "  This  is 
a  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  has  the  girl  in  her  care — a 
southern  lady  of  great  wealth,  I  believe." 

"Ga3'lord  ?  Let  me  see.  There  \vas  a  rebel 
scout  of  that  name  brought  before  me  just  as  I 
left,  and  I  ordered  him  kept  in  the  guard-house 
until  my  return." 

"  Hudson  Gaylord?" 

"  That  was  it,  as  sure  as  3^ou  live.  Hudson 
Gaylord!  A  fine-looking  fellow,  but  caught  in  a 
pretty  bad  trap,  I  am  thinking." 

"  Pearl,  he  is  this  lady's  husband.  You  must 
do  all  you  can  for  him.      Promise  me  this." 

"  Why  ?  I  see  no  reason  for  interfering  with 
justice  because  you  have  in  your  possession  a 
photograph  of  his  wife.      But  go  on." 

"  This,  Pearl,  is  the  picture  of  the  young  lady  in 
whom  I  was  so  much  interested."  She  held  it  up 
before  him. 


CHANGES    AND    REVOLUTIONS.  425 

He  started  back  in  surprise^  "  Who  is  she  ?" 
he  gasped.  "  I  should  say  it  was  yours,  dress  and 
all,  just  as  I  saw  you  first  in  this  very  house. 
Who  is  she?" 

"  Look  at  that  brow  and  the  hauteur  of  the  com- 
pressed lips.     They  are  not  mine." 

But  the  eyes  and  the  queenly  bearing,  the 
slender  form  and  white  dress — .  Taken  as  a  whole, 
there  could  scarcely  be  a  better  representation  of 
yourself  when  fourteen." 

"  Believe  me,  my  husband,  for  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  is  true.     That  picture  is  our  child !" 

"  Lillian,  are  you  mad  ?"  And  he  started  to  his 
feet  and  stood  gazing  at  her.  "  Our  child  !  You 
told  me  she  was  dead.     And  how  can  this  be  ?" 

"She  is  ours!  Our  Lily-Pearl!  She  did  not 
die,  but  was  taken  from  me  and  given  to  the 
wife  of  a  fisherman  who  was  to  care  for  her  for 
a  paltry  sum  ;  but  God  interfered  and  has  twice 
saved  her  from  the  sea  and  many  dangers,  and  she 
is  now  called  the  adopted  daughter  of  this  Mrs. 
Gaylord,  for  whose  husband  I  have  been  pleading." 

"  Lillian,  are  you  awake  ?  Or  am  I  dreaming? 
Tell  me  again.    Is  this  our  child?" 

"  Our  Lily-Pearl  !  Worthy  the  name  she  bears, 
and  as  true  and  noble  as  your  child  must  be.  Can 
you  forgive  ?  There  is  a  long  story  for  you  to 
listen  to,  but  it  was  to  hide  her  wrongs  that  the 
wicked  sea  now  haunts  our  mother's  weakened 
brain.  The  blood  upon  her  hands  is  the  mark 
conscience  has  placed  there,  but  how  thankful  am 
I  that  no  such  crime  blackens  her  soul." 

He  was  walking  the  floor  with  rapid  steps,  and 
apparently  not  listening,  for  he  held  in  his  hand 
the  picture  that  was  entrancing  him. 


126 


THE    MiSTRESvS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


Lillian  said  uo  more,  but  waited.  At  last  he 
stopped  before  her  and  asked  huskily,  "  Why  did 
you  not  bring  her  to  me  ?  This  is  cruel !  You 
have  feasted  your  eyes  on  her  beauty,  heard  her 
sweet  voice  speak  words  of  love  that  have  satisfied 
your  heart,  and  now  is  this  ]\Irs.  Ga3'lord  to  retain 
her  and  rob  me  ?  I  believe  I  am  angry  with  you, 
my  precious  wife." 

"  No,  no.  Pearl ;  she  is  coming  to  us  just  as  soon 
as  we  are  ready  to  receive  her.  I  could  not  well 
burden  them  farther  here,  and  so  I  waited  to  con- 
sult you.  Airs.  Gaylord  is  very  sad  about  giving 
her  up,  but  she  is  ours  ;  and  Lily  is  anxious  to 
meet  her  father." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  for  her.  If  there  is  no  room 
in  Philadelphia  for  the  daughter  of  Pearl  Ham- 
ilton, then  I  will  take  her  to  Washington  with  me. 
Get  yourself  ready,  for  to-morrow  we  start  for 
Boston.     I  will  see  this  child,  our  daughter." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    HAZY   MISTS    ARE   LIFTING. 

Colonel  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  arrived  in  Boston  in 
due  time.  There  had  been  long  talks  by  the  way, 
much  questioning  and  wondering,  but  true  to  the 
dictates  of  a  noble,  generous  soul,  he  had  said, 
"  Notwithstanding  all,  I  will  forgive." 

When  the  train  left  the  station  for  Kirkham  on 
the  following  morning",  many  eyes  were  turned  on 
the  glittering  colonel  who,  with  his  wife,  entered 
the  car  and  took  a  seat  near  the  door. 

"  lyCt  us  go  farther  on  ;  "  requested  Lillian,  as 
he  stepped  back  for  her  to  enter.  "  There  is  a  seat 
yonder." 

"  Yes,  but  twelve  steps  farther  away  from  her  ;" 
and  he  laughed  at  the  absurdities  of  his  own 
heart. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  at  last,"  there  is  a 
greater  conflict  before  you  than  any  in  which  you 
have  engaged  during  the  war?  Mrs.  Gaylord  is 
no  enemy,  yet  1  believe  you  will  be  hardly  able  to 
resist  her  pleadings." 

"  Shall  I  remove  my  regimental  straps  now.  or 
wait  to  lay  my  sword  at  her  feet  ?" 

"  You  may  wait,  but  be  assured  it  must  be  done! 
You  can  laugh  now  but  you  will  pity  her.  Lily 
is  fresh,  sweet  and  pure,  and  has  nestled  close 
under  the  drooping  wings   of  her  pining  love,  and 

427 


428  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

a  wound  must  be  made  in  the  severing.  Can  you 
do  this?" 

"  Little  novice  !  Do  you  ask  a  soldier  such  a 
question  as  that  ?" 

There  was  a  serious  look  on  his  face,  notwith- 
standing his  careless  words,  but  his  heart  was 
buoyant !  It  was  his  child  that  was  so  soon  to 
rest  her  beautiful  head  so  near  it !  His  own  dar- 
ling who  was  to  drive  away  the  last  of  its  desola- 
tion, and  how  could  he  intrude  into  its  bright 
chambers,  so  full  of  sunshine,  the  sombre  shadow 
of  another's  grief?  He  pitied  her,  and  would  use 
his  influence  to  liberate  her  husband  and  send  him 
out  of  harm's  way.  What  more  could  he  do  for 
her?  "She  will  ever  have  a  claim  on  my  sympathies, 
and  every  kindness  I  can  bestow  to  ease  her  aching 
heart  shall  be  cheerfully  given  ;  but  Lillian,  the 
wound  must  be  made  ;"  he  said,  after  a  long  sil- 
ence. "  Our  daughter,  my  dear,  was  taken  by 
Mrs.  Gaylord  for  the  purpose  of  administering  to 
this  drooping  love  you  are  speaking  of,  and  if  by 
her  gentleness,  sweetness  and  purity,  she  has  suc- 
ceeded in  awakening  the  sleepy  bird,  it  is  her 
glory,  not  her  debt.  But  when  you  talk  about  the 
cripple,  that  is  quite  another  thing.  My  warlike 
propensities  beat  a  retreat  immediately  before  the 
power  of  that  batallion.  They  were  children  toge- 
ther ;  and  it  was  only  love  and  kindness  in  its 
purest  guise  that  has  united  them,  and  to  wound 
such  a  heart  is  a  little  hard." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  sat  a  long  time  thinking  of  the 
prostrate  form  beneath  the  old  oak  tree  as  it  first 
met  her  gaze.  It  was  all  over — the  shady  resorts 
were  to  be  vacated  forever ;  the  path  by  the 
meadow   brook  would  be   trodden  by   other  feet, 


THE   HAZY    MISTS   ARE   LIFTING.  429 

while  the  little  pond  with  all  its  enchantments  was 
to  be  cast  among  the  fond  memories  of  the  past. 
Lillian's  heart  grew  sad  as  these  gloomy  prospects 
came  to  her.  She  was  aroused  at  length  by  the 
call,  "  Kirkham — next  station,"  and  turned  to  be- 
hold her  husband  looking  intently  at  her. 

"  As  fine  as  a  panorama,  m}-'  dear,"  he  said  with 
a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  Your  face  has  had 
all  the  changes  of  the  '  dissolving  views,'  and  I 
have  been  permitted  to  look  at  them  without  pay- 
ing the  usual  quarter." 

"  A  trifle  dishonest,  though,  for  a  gentleman," 
was  the  playful  retort;  then  added,  seriously: 
"  When  two  weeks  ago  I  alone  neared  this  station 
every  nerve  quivered  with  excitement !  I  was 
nearing  my  child — crossing  the  gulf  of  treachery 
that  had  so  long  separated  me  from  happiness ! 
My  limbs  trembled  and  nerves  quivered !  Instead 
of  all  this  you  are  as  calm  and  expectant  as  on 
the  eve  of  meeting  an  old  friend." 

"  Why  not,  little  wife  ?  You  see  the  banks  of 
this  terrible  gulf  were  lowered  a  little,  when,  nearly 
two  years  ago,  my  Lillian  came  over  to  meet  me !" 

"  Here  we  are,"  interrupted  the  happy  wife,  ris- 
ing from  her  seat ;  "  gulf  or  no  gulf  we  are  coming 
together!"  • 

The  coachman  bowed  obsequiously  as  the  two 
emerged  from  the  car. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Gaylord  still  at  the  hotel  ?"  inquired 
the  lady. 

"  She  is  ma'am."  And  he  closed  the  door  and 
drove  away.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the 
short  ride,  for  an  oppressive  lull  such  as  some- 
times precedes  a  storm  had  settled  down  over  the 
hearts  of  each,  and  it  did  not  lift  until  the  carriage 
stopped. 


41:50  THE   MISTRKSS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  came  into  the  parlor  to  greet  the 
visitors  with  a  hesitating  step.  She  was  alone  ! 
i\fter  the  introductions  Mrs.  Hamilton  asked  for 
Lily.  "  Her  father  is  so  impatient  to  meet  her," 
was  the  supplementary   remark. 

"  She  is  spending  the  da}'  with  Willie,  for  the 
purpose,  no  doubt,  of  giving  me  a  foretaste  of 
what  is  to  be." 

"  How  far  awa}',"  asked  the  colonel  impatiently. 

"  Over  two  miles,  yet  she  insisted  upon  walking 
there,  as  he  had  come  for  her  before  breakfast." 

"  I  will  speak  for  the  carriage  ;"  and  h?  left  the 
room  hurriedl3\ 

"  M}'  shadows  which  were  almost  impenetrable 
are  nevertheless  thickening,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gay- 
lord  when  alone  with  Mrs.  Hamilton.  "  News  has 
just  reached  me  that  takes  the  light  ont  of  the 
borders  of  ni}-  clouds  !" 

"  From  the  war?" 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Gaylord,  it  seems,  has  been  taken 
prisoner  while  in  citizen's  dress,  when  out  on  a 
scouting  expedition,  and  it  is  quite  uncertain  what 
will  become  of  him.  So  many  ties  severed  without 
time  given  for  the  healing,  empties  life  too  rapidly 
for  the  pulse  to  maintain  its  stead}^  motion." 

"  It  ma}'  be  I  can  stead}^  it  a  little  !  Your  hus- 
band is  in  the  hands  of  the  regiment  of  which 
Colonel  Hamilton  has  command,  and  he  will  use 
his  powers  to  secure  his  liberty." 

"'  Do  you  know  this  ?" 

"  He  has  told  me.  Air.  Gaylord  was  brought  in 
just  as  he  was  leaving  for  Washington.  The  debt 
of  gratitude  we  owe  would,  if  nothing  else,  have 
this  influence." 


THE   HAZY    MISTS   ARE    LIFTING.  431 

"  We  are  ready,"  called  Colonel  Hamiltou  from 
the  hall,  and  Lillian  taking  the  hand  of  ]\Irs.  Gay- 
lord  said,  soothingly  : 

"  Cheer  np,  my  dear  friend,  there  is  sunshine 
enough  for  us  all  if  we  will  only  secure  it,  and  we 
will  attempt  to  woo  a  little  of  it  when  all  together 
once  more;"  and  then  went  out  to  join  her  hus- 
band who  was  impatiently  waiting. 

"  A  true  little  country  miss  to  take  such  a 
walk,"  he  remarked  as  they  rolled  on  towards  the 
farm. 

"  She  is  used  to  it,"  interposed  the  coachman 
with  true  "  Yankee  "  freedom ;  "  she  has  gone 
over  this  road  lots  of  times  when  she  wasn't  the 
young  lady  she  is  to-day  !  You  are  her  father  I 
suppose  " ? 

Lillian  laughed.  "  I  have  not  introduced  you, 
Frank.  This  is  my  husband,  and  I  suppose  you 
learned  that  Lily  was  my  daughter  when  I  was 
here  before. " 

"  Yes  ma'am  ;  and  I'm  glad  !  But  I  needn't  'a' 
been  told  that  for  one  would  know  it  to  look  at 
you." 

"  But  a  little  more  doubt  about  the  father  ?" 
and  Colonel  Hamilton  brought  his  hand  down 
firmly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Yankee  questioner, 
while  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  on  the 
summer  air. 

"  Wal — no  ;  but  there's  the  house — and  the 
wheat  is  ripe  enough  this  minute  to  harvest !" 

"/  will  go  to  the  door,"  said  Lillian  as  they 
came  to  a  halt  at  the  gate  ;  "  Mrs.  Hopkins,  with- 
out doubt,  is  very  busy  with  her  dinner,  and  we 
will  not  disturb  her  by  waiting  for  a  reception." 
She    stepped  down    while  speaking   and    walked 


432  THE   MISTRESS    OF   ROSEDALE. 

briskl}'  towards  the  house.  Before  reaching  it, 
however,  the  door  flew  open  and  Lily  darted  into 
the  outstretched  arms  of  her  mother. 

"  I  am  so  a:lad  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Come — Wil- 
lie  is  sick  and  it  may  be  you  can  help  him  !" 

"  But,  my  dear,  just  wait  for  one  moment;  your 
father  wants  to  see  you  !" 

In  her  excitement  she  had  not  thought  of  the 
carriage,  or  the  reasons  for  the  unexpected  visit, 
or  anything  but  that  the  companion  of  many 
years  had  been  lying  insensible  on  the  bed  where 
the  departed  one  had  bid  them  both  farewell  so 
lone  aeo  !  But  the  words  startled  her,  and  she 
raised  her  head  from  its  sweet  rest  on  the  dear 
shoulder  to  discover  a  tall  militar}^  officer  standing 
before  them.  All  the  dreams  of  her  maturer 
years,  winged  as  they  had  been  with  glowing  as- 
pirations of"  what  might  be."  She  had  so  longed 
to  be  something  besides  "  little  Phebe,"  to  have 
wings  and  fly  away  up  among  the  clouds  ;  to  be  a 
bird  on  the  highest  tree  on  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  ;  and  now  what  was  she  ? 

"My  daughter!  My  Lily  !"  and  as  he  looked 
at  the  wondering  face  his  arms  were  outstretched 
for  the  sweet  love  his  great  heart  was  longing  for. 
Without  a  word  the  fairy  form  sprang  into  them 
and  a  pair  of  clinging  arms  were  placed  about  his 
neck.  Long  and  silent  was  the  embrace  for  the 
heart  was  content. 

"  Darling,  can  you  love  your  father  ?  I  am  not 
as  good-looking  as  the  one  you  so  much  resemble, 
but  will  I  do?" 

The  large  eyes  gleamed,  and  looking  intently 
at  him,  said  :     "  I  think  you  will !" 


THE    HAZY    MISTS    ARE    LIFTING.  433 

He  caiielit  lier  again  in  his  arms  and  covered 
her  beaming  face  with  kisses. 

"  There,  darling ;  now  let  us  go  to  Willie,  for  I 
confess  that  my  warmed  heart  is  reaching  out  for 
him  also." 

"  O  thank  you  !  You  will  love  him  I  know  !" 
and  she  preceded  her  parents  into  the  house.  Mrs. 
Hopkins  came  forward  to  greet  her  visitors  with 
traces  of  tears  still  on  her  cheeks. 

"  He  is  better  now,  and  the  doctor  says  it  is 
only  over-exertion  in  the  hot  sun  and  perhaps  a 
little  worry  with  it,"  and  she  led  the  way  to  his 
room. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  Lily  was  saying  with  her  arms 
about  his  neck  as  they  entered.  "  We  will  not  go 
out  again  until  it  is  cooler  !" 

"  But — "  He  saw  Mrs.  Hamilton  and  reached 
out  his  hand. 

"  Here  is  my  husband,  Willie,  who  has  learned 
your  worth  before  seeing  you." 

"  A  dull  scholar  I  should  be  certainly  if  I  had 
not." 

"  And  you  find  me  only  a  poor  cripple  who  is 
obliged  to  creep  through  the  dust  just  like  any 
other  worm!"  He  tried  to  smile  but  it  proved  a 
failure. 

"No,  my  boy;  not  through  the  'dust'  just 
now,  but  into  my  heart,  where,  thank  God,  there 
is  plenty  of  room  for  you  !" 

The  physician,  who  had  stepped  out  as  they 
entered  now  returned,  and  walking  up  to  the  bed 
said,  kindly  :  "You  are  all  right  now,  Willie,  but 
you  must  be  a  little  careful  of  yourself  for  a  few 
days  and  keep  in  the  shade."  And  then  he  went 
away. 


434  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"You  will  stay  to  dinner?"  pleaded  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins ;  "  I  have  nothing  very  nice  to  give  you." 

"  vShall  we,  darling?"     This  to  his  daughter. 

The  beautiful  eyes  added  their  plea,  and  the 
carriage  was  ordered  back  to  the  hotel  to  return 
for  them  at  five. 

While  sitting  in  the  parlor  Lily  told  her  father 
of  the  mother's  gift  in  the  years  gone  by,  adding  : 
"  He  is  my  brother — I  can  never  forsake  him  ;" 
and  the  answ^er  had  been  :  "  He  shall  not  be  for- 
saken. I  am  too  grateful  for  wdiat  I  have  received 
willingly  to  sever  a  single  thread  that  binds  you 
to  the  friends  of  your  past." 

Mrs.  Hopkins  was  standing  in  the  door  when 
these  words  w^ere  spoken,  but  turned  away  with  a 
pain  in  her  heart  and  a  strange  pallor  on  her 
usually  flushed  face. 

That  evening  there  was  a  long  consultation  in 
the  little  upper  parlor  of  the  village  inn,  and  Mrs. 
Gaylord  had  repeated  the  plea  :  "  You  will  let  her 
remain  with  me  until  the  summer  heat  is  over  ?  I 
cannot  return  home  now  if  I  w^ould,  and  it  would 
be  insufferable  here  without  her  !  As  soon  as  the 
maple  leaves  shall  crimson  and  the  birds  go  where 
I  cannot  follow,  I  will  come  with  her  to  Philadel- 
phia and  stand  between  you  no  more.  It  will  take 
the  intervening  weeks  to  prepare  my  heart  to  en- 
dure the  separation.  Certainly  you  cannot  refuse 
me  this  !"  And  the  whole  matter  was  given  to 
the  daughter  for  a  decision.  She  w^hispered  it  at 
last  in  the  ear  of  her  doting  father,  as  she  hung 
about  his  neck  while  he  petted  and  caressed  her  : 
"  For  Willie's  sake,  until  he  is  stronger  and  able 
to  return  to  Boston  I  will  remain." 


THE   HAZY   MISTS   ARE   LIFTING.  435 

"  Pretty  liard,  my  darling,  but  as  there  is  no 
appeal  the  subject  is  of  course  closed." 

"But  there  is  another  of  whom  I  have  not  told 
you,  whose  heart  will  rejoice  at  this  decision," 
L/ily  remarked  playfully. 

"  Not  a  lover  I  hope,"  interposed  the  father. 

"  Yes — a  true  lover  !  One  who  has  helped  me 
in  many  a  trying  hour,  and  whose  advice  it  has 
always  been  safe  to  follow.  You  need  not  draw 
down  that  military  mustache  so  threateningly,  for 
this  '  lover  '  is  no  other  than  '  Crazy  Dimis,'  who 
is  even  now  free  from  the  restraints  of  the  '  county 
house '  and  is  roaming  about  somewhere.  She 
appeared  to  us  yesterday  out  of  the  honeysuckle 
swamp,  and  with  her  usual  earnestness  exclaimed, 
as  she  pointed  her  long  bony  finger  at  me,  '  Little 
fool,  kiss  and  cry,  kiss  and  cry,  don't  I  know  ? 
lyife  is  full  of  'em  ;  go,  love  is  waiting — get  it ; 
Eyes  must  weep — and  eyes  must  hunger, 
lyove  must  sleep  and  life  must  wonder  ; 

don't  I  know?'  And  with  a  loud  laugh  she 
darted  into  the  thick  shades  and  life  was  left  to 
'  wonder.'  There  is  a  good  deal  of  common  sense 
in  her  gibberings,  and  when  three  years  ago  she 
told  me  to  '  go  and  make  omens  '  I  obeyed,  and 
came  to  Mrs.  Gaylord,  whose  hands  were  full  of 
cheering  '  omens.'  " 

One  week  after  the  northern  visit  Colonel  Ham- 
ilton received  very  decided  orders  from  headquar- 
ters to  return  immediately  to  his  regiment.  "  Lee 
must  be  intercepted." 

"  You  must  do  it  all  alone,  Lillian,"  was  the 
quick  remark  when  the  telegram  was  read. 
"  Howe  &  Brother  will  furnish  all  in  the  up- 
holstery line  that  will  be  desired,  and  be  sure  that 


436  THE    MiSTREvSS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

our  home  is  made  fitting  the  reception  of  our 
daughter," 

How  full  the  succeeding  days  were  to  the  hope- 
ful wife  and  mother  !  "  She  will  be  here  at  the 
first  tinging  of  the  maple  trees."  This  she  had 
said  to  her  aunt.  "  Only  a  little  more  than  two 
months  in  which  to  make  all  ready." 

"  Such  a  dainty  bit  of  precious  girlhood  must 
not  be  allowed  to  step  on  the  common  ingrain  that 
covers  3'our  old  uncle's  floors,  I  take  it."  This 
was  a  little  improvised  indignation  as  the  good 
old  uncle  listened  to  the  plannings  and  recount- 
ings  of  the  luxuries  that  were  to  surround  her  in 
the  home  to  be  prepared.  "  But  the  fisherman's 
cot  shouldu't  be  forgotten,  Lillian,  and  so  some- 
times you  will  let  her  come  to  us  ?" 

"  What  a  wicked,  naughty  uncle  you  are  !"  Lil- 
lian exclaimed,  while  she  smothered  all  further 
ebullitions  of  assumed  anger  b}^  placing  a  little 
white  hand  over  his  mouth.  "There!  Now^  to 
punish  you  for  those  words  I  shall  be  at  the  store 
at  five  for  3'ou  to  go  with  me  and  look  over  the 
premises  !" 

"  Want  to  blacken  my  fingers  with  the  guilt  of 
spoiling  her  do  you  ?  Well,  well  !  A  full  half 
hour  lost  in  palavering;  good-bye,"  and  the  jovial 
uncle  went  out  from  his  home  leaving  it  full  of 
sunshine. 

October  dawned  bright  and  beautiful.  The  hazy 
mist  that  brooded  over  the  city  was  tinted  with 
hues  of  purple  and  gold  as  they  became  tangled 
with  the  many  colored  leaves  that  fell  through  the 
cool  shadows  in  the  public  squares,  and  in  a 
week  Lily-Pearl  Hamilton  would  arrive.  !  One 
cloud  only  was  shadowing  the  path  of  Airs.  Ham- 


THE    HAZY    MISTS    ARE    LIFTING.  437 

iltoii,  and  that  the  absence  and  dangers  of  him  to 
whom  her  heart  had  clung  through  all  the  gloomy 
days ;  but  in  a  few  months  his  "  three  years " 
would  close  and  then — how  happy  they  would  all 
be! 

"  If  Pearl  can  succeed  in  getting  old  auntie  and 
Lizzy  safely  here,  as  he  assured  me  he  could  do," 
she  had  said,  ''  my  cup  will  be  full  to  overflow- 
ing !" 

"  How  will  your  mother  bear  all  this  ?"  queried 
Mrs.  Cheevers. 

"  With  no  serious  result  I  imagine.  The  doc- 
tor told  me  the  other  day  that  she  was  not  sus- 
ceptible of  a  very  severe  shock,  her  brain  having 
become  so  inactive  that  no  injury  would  probably 
come  to  it  through  excitement." 

Suddenly  recollecting  that  Pearl's  mother  was 
to  meet  her  at  the  new  home  at  ten  she  hastened 
away. 

"  Everything  v^diS  perfect  in  the  new  home,"  was 
Mrs.  Hamilton's  conclusion,  as  with  Lillian  she 
walked  from  room  to  room.  "  Not  massive  and 
oppressive  with  a  superabundance  of  heavy  carv- 
ings and  marble,  but  bright  and  cheerful  in  its 
display  of  luxury  and  beauty.  Your  taste  is  good, 
my  daughter,  and  I  think  Pearl  will  commend  it." 

While  at  the  tea-table  that  night  a  letter  was 
brought  in  for  Lillian.  "  From  George,"  she  said, 
breaking  the  seal.  "  A  long  one  for  an  invalid 
certainly,"  and  she  unfolded  the  well-filled  sheet 
and  began  its  perusal.  Finishing  the  first  page 
she  laid  it  upon  her  lap  and  folded  her  hand  over 
it. 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  length ;  then  perceiving 
that  her  uncle  and  aunt  were  gazing  quizzingly  at , 


438  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

her  ;  "  wonders  are  multiplying!"  and  she  recom- 
menced its  perusal. 

"  Do  stop  her,  wife,  and  make  her  tell  what  it  is 
that  brings  such  a  queer  look  into  her  face  !  If  I 
were  a  woman  ;  but  pshaw  !"     The  wife  laughed. 

"In  just  one  moment,  uncle,"  and  Lillian 
turned  the  page.  "  He  is  nearly  well,  and— yes — 
he  will  accept  my  invitation  to  be  here  in  Christ- 
mas week  with  his  bride!" 

"  Hurrah  !  Another  southern  aristocrat  mixing 
up  with  northern  plebeianism  I  reckon  !  What's 
that  quotation,  wife  ?  '  To  be  seen  is  to  be  loved  ?'  " 

"  No,  no  !  You  are  talking  about  vice  !  '  To 
be  hated  needs  only  to  be  seen.'  But  this  is  a 
wife!" 

"  O,  well  I  never  could  remember  poetry. 
George  to  be  married !  All  right !  I  will  give 
him  welcome  to  his  miseries  !  But  who  is  the  fair 
one?" 

"  The  daughter  of  the  widow  with  whom  they 
are  staying ;  one  fully  worthy  to  bear  the  honored 
name  of  St.  Clair.     So  he  writes." 

'*  The  same  old  silly  story  ;  but  I  am  glad  of  it  ! 
Let  me  see — when  is  that  '  Lily-Pearl  '  to  get 
here  ?     I  cannot  wait  much  longer  !" 

"  And  you  will  not  be  obliged  to  do  so.  I 
shall  expect  her  now  on  every  train,  for  there  was 
something  in  her  letter  that  appeared  like  sur- 
prising. She  said  '  a  week  at  the  farthest,  but  I 
am  so  impatient  to  get  close  to  my  mother  once 
more  that  I  fear  I  cannot  wait  much  longer  for 
Mrs.  Gaylord  to  smooth  down  her  ruffles.' " 

She  did  wait,  however,  but  the  day  came  when 
the  carriage  containing  the  long  lost  daughter 
with  her  escort  and  servant  stopped  before  the 


THE    HAZY    MISTS    ARE    LIFTING.  439 

door  of  Mrs.  Hamilton's  temporary  nome  and 
alighted.  What  a  rush  of  emotion  came  into  the 
heart  of  the  young  girl  when  she  remembered  that 
beneath  that  roof  was  the  one  who  had  been  the 
cause  of  all  her  desolations  and  roamings  !  But 
they  were  over  now,  and  with  a  light  tread  she 
darted  up  the  marble  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  By  surprise  after  all,"  she  remarked,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  was  following.  The  door 
flew  open  and  with  an  exclamation  of  joy  she 
sprang  into  her  mother's  embrace. 

"  The  train  is  not  due  for  five  minutes,"  Lillian 
said  at  last,  finding  breath  to  speak,  "I  was  just 
coming  to  the  door  to  watch  down  the  street  as  I 
have  done  for  many  days." 

But  why  attempt  to  picture  the  scenes  of  bliss 
that  followed  ?  All  hearts  in  the  broad  circle  of 
love  save  one  opened  wide  to  receive  its  new  ac- 
cessions. Mrs.  Cheevers  could  never  tire  of  eulo- 
gizing her  pretty  ways  and  simplicity  of  manners, 
while  the  husband  reiterated  fully  twice  each  day 
that  even  his  pet,  Lillian,  never  came  up  to  her 
daughter  in  good  looks  or  winning  ways. 

Still  Mrs.  Belmont  utterly  refused  to  see  her 
grandchild.  In  vain  did  Lillian  assure  her  that 
the  past  had  been  severed  forever,  and  Lily  only 
waited  to  tell  her  this,  but  her  answering  wail  of 
agony  was  truly  pitiful  to  hear. 

"  No — no  !"  she  would  say,  "  I  cannot,  O,  I 
cannot !  Keep  her  away  !  Keep  her  away  !  O 
God  !  But  he  will  not  hear  ?  Don't  let  her  come, 
Lillian  my  child.  I  did  it !  So  cruel !  So 
wicked  !"  With  streaming  eyes  Lillian  would  pet 
and  caress  her  mother  with  most  earnest  solici- 
tude. 


440 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 


Day  after  day  passed  with  no  better  results. 
She  would  not  see  Lily,  neither  would  she  be 
taken  to  the  beautiful  home  on  Broad  street. 
"  Let  me  die  here,"  she  would  plead,  when  told  of 
the  pretty  room  that  had  been  fitted  up  for  her — 
so  nearly  like  the  one  at  Rosedale.  But  she 
shrank  at  the  very  recital  and  settled  down  in  her 
easy  chair  like  a  weary  child  who  desires  to  be  let 
alone, 

"  What  shall  I  do!"  This  from  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
one  morning  coming  into  the  presence  of  her 
daughter,,  after  one  more  fruitless  attempt.  "  She 
will  never  consent  to  leave  here,  and  I  cannot  go 
without  her.  Neither  do  I  like  to  use  compul- 
sion." 

"Why  not  wait  for  Father?  Perhaps  he  can 
persuade  her." 

"For  two  months,  darling?'' 

"  If  no  better  thing  can  be  done." 

The  mother  smiled.  "  Perhaps  you  are  correct. 
This  may  be  best.     I  think  we  will  wait." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AUNT    VINA    11^  THE    NEW    HOME. 

The  weeks  succeeding  the  incidents  of  our  last 
chapter  sped  rapidly  by.  Winter  came  with  its 
chilling  winds,  rifling  the  waving  branches  of 
their  many  colors,  leaving  them  bare  and  unsight- 
ly ;  while  it  spread  now  and  then  over  the  seared 
lawns  a  pure  white  covering  of  snow,  to  hide  for 
a  time  its  sad  work  ;  and  upon  all  this  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont looked  with  dreamy  listlessness  from  her 
window.  What  was  beauty,  death,  or  change  to 
her  now,  shut  out  as  she  was  from  the  past,  and 
in  fear  of  the  future  ?  When  kind  hearts  at- 
tempted to  gain  her  consent  to  have  the  monotony 
of  life  broken  she  would  plead  :  "  No,  no,  let  me 
stay  here !  It  is  cold,  I  cannot  go !  Ivillian,  my 
child,  don't  let  her  come !  She  will  look  at  me 
with  her  large  eyes,  so  much  like  my  baby's  !  It 
would  kill  me !  " 

What  was  Mrs.  Hamilton  to  do  ?  The  elegant 
home  on  Broad  street  was  waiting,  and  Christmas 
week  approaching.  She  could  not  leave  her  mo- 
ther to  be  a  burden  to  others,  and  Lily  said,  "  per- 
haps father  can  persuade  her ;  "  and  so  they  lin- 
gered for  his  coming. 

"  Unless  some  imperative  duties  shall  arise 
to  prevent  I  will  run  home  for  a  Christmas  din- 
ner," he  had  written. 

441 


442  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

The  opening  of  the  holidays  came  at  last,  as  all 
bright  places  in  life  come  and  flit  past,  and  Col- 
onel Hamilton  returned  on  leave  to  his  home  with 
buoyant  spirits,  for  he  did  not  come  alone.  Aunt 
Vina,  with  her  broad,  good-natured  face,  followed 
the  gail}^  dressed  officer  from  the  carriage,  and 
close  behind  her  walked  Li>^zie  and  little  Bobb3^ 
"For  ]\Iiss  Lillian,  Fse  couldn't  leave  him,"  was 
the  earnest  exclamation  preceding  the  greeting. 

"  No  more  could  3'ou  Lizzie,  and  we  could  never 
have  gotten  along  without  little  Bobb}/,"  and  Mrs. 
Hamilton  caught  the  diminutive  mulatto  of  ten 
in  her  arms  and  kissed  his  plump  3ellow  cheek. 

Never  was  mother  more  heartily  welcomed  by  her 
child  than  was  'old  aunt  \'ina,'  by  her  pet  of  former 
years.  "  Bress  de  Lord,  honey  !  I  thought  dese 
old  arms  wouldn't  neber  hold  my  sweet  darlin' 
no  more  !"  she  exclaimed,  as  tears  coursed  rapidly 
over  her  cheeks.  "  But  de  ]\Iissus,  hone}-  ?  Old 
Vina's  eyes  ache  to  look  on  her  once  more  ;  de 
poor  dear  !  IMassa  saj^s  she's  dreffle  bad,  but  de 
Lord  knows  what's  bes'  !" 

"  Why  did  3'ou  not  tell  me  about  this  ?"  asked 
Lillian  of  her  husband  as  soon  as  the  dear  old 
arms  had  liberated  her  sufhcientl37  to  permit 
her  to  do  so.  "It  would  have  helped  in  the 
waiting  if  I  had  had  the  opportunit3^  of  anticipa- 
ting a  little?" 

"  I  was  not  sure  of  succeeding  in  m3^  project 
myself  until  three  days  ago,"  he  answered, 
between  the  repeated  caresses  he  was  lavishing  on 
his  beautiful  daughter. 

"She's  just  like  her  mudder,"  interposed  aunt 
Vina  ;  "  and  dis  old  heart's  got  her  fast ! 


AUNT    VINA    IN    THE    NEW    HOME.  443 

"  Let  it  hold  her,  Vina,  and  permit  her  youug 
life  to  draw  as  much  good  from  its  hidden  trea- 
sures as  my  darling  wife  has  received,"  and  Col- 
onel Hamilton  placed  the  hand  of  his  child  in  the 
old  negress's  grasp.  Let  3^our  motherly  love 
widen  sufficiently  to  make  room  for  both  of  my 
treasures,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Dat  I  will,  and  place  enough  for  de  missus 
too!  "  Here  a  hearty  laugh  all  around,  in  which 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cheevers  joined  in  merrily. 

The  day  after  to-morrow  would  be  Christmas, 
and  a  small  party  was  expected  in  the  new  home. 
How  much  there  was  to  be  done  before  that 
time!  "  The  first  thing  of  all,"  said  Lillian,  em- 
phatically, "  Is  to  get  Mother  to  Broad  street !  We 
have  everything  in  readiness — a  cook  and  maid  of 
all  work  secured." 

"And  nobody  wants  'em,"  chimed  in  Lizzie. 
"  Reckon  Vina  an'  me  knows  all  dat !  " 

"  Yes,  and  after  our  little  fete  is  over  you  two 
shall  be  fully  enstalled  as  advisory  committee  in 
our  quiet  domain,  while  Bobby  can  wait  on  the 
door  and  learn  to  be  a  man.  I  suppose  you  know 
that  you  are  no  longer  slaves,  and,  unless  I  am 
very  good  to  you,  some  day  you  may  take  into 
your  kind  old  heads  to  leave  me." 

"  Neber,  Missus  !  "  chimed  in  two  voices  at  the 
same  time. 

Dinner  was  now  ready  for  the  hungry  travelers, 
but  Mrs.  Hamilton  could  not  eat.  "  I  will  go  to 
mother,"  she  said,  "  for  she  will  hear  the  voices 
and  perhaps  recognize  them." 

Mrs.  Belmont  was  alone,  for  Mrs.  Jackson  had 
been  dismissed  upon  the  arrival  of  the  daughter 
into  the  household  ;  and  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  imme- 


4:4A:  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

diately  gone  to  visit  a  relative  in  another  part  of 
the  city  with  a  promise  to  return  to  them  for  a  few 
weeks  after  all  were  settled.  Lillian  opened  the 
door  of  the  chamber  with  some  trepidation.  As 
she  did  so  two  large  e3^es  were  fastened  upon  her 
with  a  speechless  wonder  lighting  up  their  slum- 
bering fires. 

"  I  came  to  eat  dinner  with  you,  mother,"  the 
daughter  said  cheerily,  coming  to  her  side.  "  Not 
tasted  it  ?  I  am  in  good  time  then.  It  will  spoil 
if  you  allow  it  to  get  cold.  This  chicken  pie  is 
not  the  way  aunt  Vina  used  to  get  it  up,  is  it  ? 
But  I  like  it  quite  as  well.      Let  us  try  it." 

"  Has  she  come  ? 

''  Who,  mother?  '' 

"  Vina." 

"  Yes,  and  Lizzie,  with  little  Bobby.'' 

"  And  he?" 

"Who?" 

"Charles." 

"  No,  mother,  but  he  is  at  Rosedale,  well  and 
hopeful.  You  know  some  one  is  needed  there  to 
take  care  of  the  place  and  servants.  But  Pearl  is 
below  stairs  and  will  be  here  to  see  you  after 
dinner." 

The  good  things  on  the  small  table,  however, 
remained  untouched,  for  the  once  proud  mistress 
of  Rosedale  was  silently  watching  the  curtain, 
that  had  fallen  around  her  world,  slowly  move 
one  side,  as  the  panorama  of  the  past  came  lag- 
gardly  to  view.  Lillian  watched  the  changing 
expression  on  the  thin  face  with  interest,  unwil- 
ling to  interrupt  the  ebbing  emotions  she  was 
sure  were  casting  their  flitting  shadows  upon  it. 
Not  until  the    sound    of   feet    coming    along  the 


AUNT    VINA    IN    THE    NEW    HOME.  445 

hall,  and  tlieu  halting  before  the  door,  was  a 
word  spoken.  "Mother;  Pearl  has  come,"  and, 
without  permission,  Lillian  arose  and  opened  the 
door. 

"Just  as  I  left  you  ;  he  exclaimed,  cheerfully, 
stepping  to  the  side  of  the  invalid's  chair. 
Surely  you  have  not  been  sitting  here  all  the 
time  ?  " 

She  did  not  move  or  look  at  him. 

"  It  is  too  bad  to  stay  in  this  one  room  so  long, 
and  to  day  we  will  have  a  change.  In  an  hour, 
lyillian,  there  will  be  a  carriage  at  the  door,  and 
we  will  take  mother  to  another  room,  where  she 
will  not  be  obliged  to  look  upon  the  same  wall  of 
brick  and  stone  alwa3^s." 

She  started,  and  her  gaze  rested  on  the  manly 
face  so  near  her  own. 

"  Not  a  word,"  he  responded,  playfully,  placing 
his  hand  over  her  mouth,  "  I  am  going  to  show 
you  one  of  the  brightest  rainbows  that  has  ever 
spanned  your  blue  sky  of  life.  All  the  brighter, 
dear  mother,  for  the  dark  clouds  behind  it.  You 
are  looking  much  better  than  when  I  went  away  ; 
and  that  scarlet  shawl  gives  quite  a  healthy  glow 
to  your  cheeks.  How  happy  we  shall  be  !  In  a 
few  months  my  army  life  will  come  to  an  end ; 
then  I  will  throw  up  my  commission  and  be  one 
among  you,  and  let  Rosedale  go  to  its  rightful 
owner, — we  can  be  happier  without  it." 

"  Charles  ?  "   said  the  feeble  voice. 

"  Shall  be  where  his  mother  can  enjoy  him.  In 
an  hour,  remember,  we  will  go.  Wrap  warmly, 
for  it  is  cold  outside  ;  "  and,  without  another  word. 
Colonel  Hamilton  left  the  room. 


446  THE    MISTRKSS    OK    ROSEDALE. 

"  Now,  mother,  you  must  eat  something,  for  you 
will  want  strength  for  j^our  ride." 

She  obeyed,  and,  without  speaking,  did  good  jus- 
tice to  the  ample  meal.  The  firm  will  of  a  strong 
controlling  mind  had  conquered,  and  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont submitted  to  every  suggestion  without  an 
opposing  gesture. 

The  servants,  immediatel}^  after  dinner,  were 
taken  to  their  new  quarters,  \vith  Lil}^  as  their 
mistress,  and  then  the  Colonel  returned  in  the 
carriage  for  his  wife  and  mother.  He  found  her 
warmly  cloaked  and  shawled,  but  every  nerve 
trembled  as  one  shivering  with  ague.  Not  appa- 
rently noticing  it,  he  said,  merrily,  "How  the  boys 
in  blue  would  env}^  me,"  and  he  placed  his  arm 
around  the  shrinking  form  to  aid  the  timid  feet 
down  the  long  flight  of  stairs.  "  To  be  a  lady's 
gallant  is  a  luxury  not  often  indulged  in  by  us 
poor  soldiers.  The  air  is  delicious  out  of  doors  ; 
it  will  give  you  new  life  and  strength.  There 
now,  you  are  all  right,  safe  on  terra  flrma  !  "  And 
slowly  he  led  her  on. 

Mechanically  she  moved  through  the  hall  to  the 
outer  door,  down  the  marble  steps,  and  was  lifted 
into  the  carriage  with  mau}^  a  livel}^  sally  from 
Lillian,  wdio  followed  full  of  wonder.  As  carefully 
was  she  assisted  out  again  on  arriving  at  her 
destination  ;  and  entering  the  splendid  drawing- 
room  looked  wildly  about  her. 

"Right  here,  mother,  in  this  easy  chair ;  and 
her  tender  escort  seated  her  near  the  register. 

"Jus' you  let  me  do  dis  ;  "  calmly  said  Vina, 
coming  up  to  her  once  stately  mistress,  and  she 
began  removing  her  wrappings.  "  Dar's  no  use 
ob  dese  old  hands  forgettin'  how.     And  missus, 


AUNT    VINA    IN   THE    NEW    HOME.  447 

I'se  mighty  glad  de  good  Lord  sent  'way  down  to 
Georgy  after  this  ere  gal,  'cause  He  knowed  dar 
was  no  one  like  old  Vina  could  do  for  de  missus." 

All  the  time  the  faithful  hands  were  at  work, 
while  the  brightening  eyes  of  the  invalid  were 
scanning  the  kindly  face  of  the  old  slave. 

When  all  wraps  were  removod  and  passed  to 
Lizzy  to  take  from  the  room,  she  took  her  thin 
white  hand  in  her  dusky  palm,  and,  kneeling  by 
the  chair,  said  plaintively  ;  "  Bress  de  Lord  !  Let 
ebery  body  bress  Him,  for  He  is  good  !  O  Missus  ! 
Vina's  heart  is  big,  'cause  it's  so  glad !  Bress  de 
Lord !  " 

"  The  other  white  hand  was  lifted  slowly  and 
placed  on  the  bowed  head  of  the  negrcss  as  the 
pale  lips  muttered,  "  Bless  the  Lord  !   Pra^^,  pray!" 

'  Glory!"  and  the  old  servant  sprang  to  her 
feet. 

"  De  angels  will  clap  dar  hands  wid  joy  !  Mis- 
sus is  goin'  to  de  mansions  by-and-by  !  " 

A  quiet  glow  of  peace  stole  into  the  restless 
eyes,  as  Mrs.  Belmont  listened,  and  settling  down 
in  her  easy  chair,  she  really  looked  like  the  pic- 
ture of  contentment,  as  the  Colonel  asserted,  en- 
tering as  Vina  went  out. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cheevers  were  to  take  a  quiet  tea 
with  them,  and,  as  the  uncle  declared,  "  would 
bring  along  the  horse-shoe,  as  there  would  be  no 
good  luck  without  it."  And  soon  all  were  seated 
in  the  drawing-room  in  pleasant  conversation,  to 
which  Mrs.  Belmont  apparently  gave  no  heed. 
An  hour  passed,  when  the  careful  mistress,  who 
was,  indeed,  troubled  about  many  things,  took  the 
arm  of  her  husband  and  went  into  the  parlor 
opposite. 


■448  THE    MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  She  is  so  tranquil ;  liow  can  we  disturb  her?" 
was  the  first  ejaculation. 

"  We  will  not  disturb  her  ni}^  dear." 

"  But  what  about  Lily  ?" 

"What  about  her?  Why  she's  the  sweetest 
darling — " 

"  No,  no  !    How  shall  we  bring  them  together  ?" 

"  In  the  most  natural  way  possible.  When  Lea 
is  ready  I  will  escort  her  out  to  the  table  and  in- 
troduce our  daughter.  She  is  a  child  and  will  sub- 
mit to  be  governed  and  led.  But  where  is  Lily  ? 
I  have  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time.'' 

"  Gone  to  her  room  with  a  letter  from  Willie,  I 
imagine,  as  her  cheeks  put  on  an  unusual  glow 
when  a  small  package  was  placed  in  her  hand 
b}^  the  carrier." 

"  What  makes  3^ou  say  that,  Lillian  ?  Do  you 
suppose  that  the  heart  of  our  child  is  in  any  way 
entangled  with  that  bo3''s  love  ?'" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

The  subject  of  this  conversation  came  tripping 
down  the  broad  staircase,  and  with  a  buo^^ant  step 
entered  the  room  where  her  father  and  mother 
were  standing  by  the  window. 

"  See  what  Willie  has  sent  me  for  Christmas !" 
she  exclaimed,  holding  up  a  finger  adorned  by  a 
ring  set  with  precious  stones. 

"  An  engagement  ring  ni}^  darling?'' 

"Ono!  We  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
He  is  my  brother,  that  is  all !"  The  sweet  face 
could  but  crimson  as  she  looked  into  that  of  her 
father. 

"I  believe  3'ou,  darling;  and  as  a  brother  he 
will  be  loved  b}^  us  all." 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful?" 


AUNT   VINA    IN   THE    NEV/    HOME.  4^1:9 

"It  has  cost  him  many  a  day  of  hard  work, 
without  doubt,"  was  the  reply,  while  the  mother 
was  carefully  examining  the  costly  gift.  "  Poor 
Willie !     He  writes  that  he  is  not  very  well." 

"  He  misses  his  companion  of  so  many  years, 
and  the  bestowing  of  this  gift  has  brightened  up 
his  loneliness  more  than  anything  else  could  have 
done."     This  from  the  mother  thoughtfully. 

The  bell  announcing  tea  was  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  the  colonel,  bidding  his  daughter  see  that  all 
was  ready,  went  to  the  drawing-room  for  the  in- 
valid. It  was  as  he  had  said.  Placing  his  arm 
tenderly  about  her  shrinking  form  he  led  her  into 
the  dining-room  where  she  met  her  granddaughter 
with  only  a  slight  quivering  of  the  hand  that  was 
clinging  so  closely  to  the  arm  supporting  her. 

Lily  kissed  the  pale  cheek  as  she  said  :  "  I  will 
take  her  to  the  seat  where  Aunt  Vina  says  she 
must  sit."  During  this  the  peaceful  glow  did  not 
fade  from  her  eyes,  or  the  expression  of  resigna- 
tion from  her  face. 

"  You  are  a  magician  as  well  as  a  prophet," 
whispered  Lillian,  returning  to  the  head  of  the 
table. 

They  were  happy  now.  The  rainbow  was 
spanning  the  dark  clouds,  and  its  cheering  colors 
were  reflected  in  every  face. 

"  Charles,"  feebly  whispered  Mrs.  Belmont. 

"  Yes,  and  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  ought  also  to  be 
here,"  remarked  the  colonel,  "for  I  have  good 
news  of  her  husband.  He  will  be  liberated  and 
sent  north  in  a  very  short  time."  How  bright  the 
sky  can  be  after  the  clouds  are  driven  out  of  it ! 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


GOOD    BYE.'' 


Gentle  reader,  would  you  like  to  follow  the 
friends  whom  you  have  met  in  this  simple  narra- 
tive still  farther  in  the  histories  of  their  eventful 
lives  ?  Has  your  acquaintance  thus  far  been  a 
pleasant  one  ?  This  is  not  all.  Every  thought- 
ful mind  will  draw  from  the  characters  of  history 
or  romance  such  lessons  of  hope  and  faith  as  cheer 
the  heart  in  sorrow  or  beneath  the  depressions  of 
despondency  something  that  will  guide  when  the 
soul  is  perplexed  or  shrinking.  Sad  indeed  would 
the  writer  of  this  story  be,  if  in  the  delineations  of 
the  history  of  our  little  heroine  no  lonely  wayfarer 
should  be  comforted,  or  no  friendless  waif  taught 
to  look  up  for  the  hand  that  safely  leads.  God  is 
kind  and  watchful  towards  his  children,  assuring 
them  that  they  are  "  better  than  many  sparrows," 
and  therefore  cannot  fall  to  the  ground  without 
his  notice;  but  is  also  just  to  punish  and  chasten 
those  who  oppose  his  little  ones. 

Have  these  truths  been  set  impressively  before 
you  ?  If  so  we  will  raise  the  curtain  yet  a  little 
higher  and  glance  for  one  moment  into  the  lives 
and  homes  of  the  few  in  whom  you  are  interested, 
after  the  terrible  war  is  over  and  peace  again  settles 
down  like  a  holy  benediction  over  our  beautiful 
land. 

450 


"  GOOD    BYE."  451 

Colonel  Hamilton  could  not  be  spared  from  the 
important  position  he  had  occupied  from  the  com- 
mencement of  the  struggle,  and  although  his 
visits  home  were  frequent,  the  elegant  house  on 
Broad  street  wore  an  air  of  desolation  as  the 
shadows  of  realities  and  uncertainties  crept  into  it. 
The  reports  of  victories  and  defeats  brought  terror 
and  dismay  into  every  heart,  for  loved  ones  were 
in  jeopardy  and  mourning  was  in  the  land. 

One  day  there  came  a  letter  from  the  absent 
husband  that  thickened  the  veil  of  apprehension 
and  spread  a  new  gloom  over  the  hearts  of  those 
who  read  it.  "  We  must  expect  bad  news  my  dear 
wife,"  it  went  on  to  say;  "and  although  I  would 
shield  my  cherished  ones  from  war's  disasters  I 
cannot  do  it.  Reports  were  brought  in  last  night 
by  our  scouts  that  Rosedale  was  in  ashes  and  your 
brother,  in.  a  desperate  hand  to  hand  encounter 
with  some  of  the  boys  in  blue,  received  a  wound 
from  which  he  died  before  reaching  the  hospital 
camp.  I  was  hoping  to  be  able  to  shield  him,  and 
for  our  mother's  sake  send  him  north.  But  now 
he  is  beyond  our  reach." 

"  My  poor,  poor  brother!"  cried  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
as  the  letter  dropped  from  her  hands.  "  I  had 
placed  so  much  hope  on  his  coming  !  What  can 
I  tell  mother  ?  She  is  so  much  better,  and  was 
asking  only  this  morning  when  Charles  would  be 
here  ?" 

"  We  cannot  break  the  new  sad  news  to  her," 
replied  the  daughter;  "let  us  wait  for  father. 
Somehow  he  is  able  to  do  everything  without 
difficulty. 

Lillian  smiled  in  spite  of  her  tears.  "  Yes, 
darling,  we  will  wait."     But  it  could  not  be.     The 


452  THE   MISTRESS   OF    ROSEDALE. 

hungry  heart  of  the  mother  was  enduring  the 
agony  of  famishing,  and  her  cries  for  her  only  son 
were  truly  pitiful, 

"  Let  the  consequences  be  what  they  may  I  can- 
not longer  endure  her  appeals  ;  she  must  know  the 
truth,"  she  said  to  Lily  one  morning  some  weeks 
after.  "  Mother — Pearl  cannot  send  him  to  you — 
how  gladly  he  would  do  it  if  he  could  ;  but  it  is  too 
late  !" 

"  Too  late  ?" 

''  Yes,  mother  ;  the  war  you  know.  It  has  de- 
stroyed Rosedale,  scattered  the  servants  and — " 

"  Charles  ?" 

"  Charles  has  fallen  into  the  ruin." 

"  Charles  ?     Will  he  not  come  ?" 

"Never  mother;  he  is  dead!  And  we  are 
alone  !" 

"  Dead  !  Dead  !  And  he  will  not  come  !  Gone ! 
All,  all  gone  !"  and  the  white  fingers  linked  them- 
selves together,  twisting  and  untwisting  with  a 
slow  nervous  motion  as  they  lay  upon  her  lap, 
while  her  large  eyes  never  moved  their  gaze  from 
the  face  before  her. 

"  Dead  !     Dead  !"  she  murmured. 

"  Pearl  will  be  here  by  and  by,  and  he  will  love 
you  and  be  as  true  a  son  as  my  brother  would 
have  been.     Let  us  wait  and  watch  for  him  now." 

"Dead!  Dead!  My  boy— my  Charles  !"  From 
this  one  subject  nothing  could  divert  her  thoughts. 
The  sad,  mournful  wail  bubbled  up  from  her 
stricken  heart  as  naturally  as  her  breath  issued 
from  her  lungs,  moaning  and  breathing ;  yet  not  a 
tear  moistened  the  burning  eyeballs,  until  one 
morning  while  Vina  was  arranging  her  dress  for 
the  day  and  telling  her  how  "  de  poor  heart  broke 


"  GOOD    BYE."  453 

when  little  Shady  went  out  and  neber  more  come 
back,"  the  unseen  hand  laid  a  finger  upon  the 
main-spring  of  human  life  and  it  stopped.  Mrs. 
Belmont,  the  ambitious  mistress  of  Rosedale  was 
also  dead!  The  flickering  light  of  a  once  massive 
brain  was  blown  out ;  the  prison  door  opened,  and 
the  pent-up  soul  was  gone !  Now  indeed  were  the 
shadows  deepened !  The  emblems  of  mourning 
were  upon  the  door  and  reflected  their  sombre 
shades  over  everything  within. 

Colonel  Hamilton  could  not  leave  his  regiment, 
as  they  were  engaged  in  active  duty  ;  and  so  the 
daughter  laid  her  away  in  Woodland  cemetery 
under  the  cool  shadows,  as  the  setting  sun  was 
scattering  its  last  rays  upon  the  sparkling  waters 
at  the  base  of  the  hill.  As  the  birds  were  chant- 
ing their  good-night  songs  the  solemn  cortege 
turned  away — back  to  life  with  all  of  its  coming 
and  stirring  events,  yet  with  heavy  hearts. 

"  Yes,  darling,  we  will  leave  Aunt  Vina  sole 
mistress  of  all  and  go  to  Kirkham  for  a  few  weeks 
at  least,"  Mrs,  Hamilton  said  a  few  mornings 
after,  in  answer  to  her  daughter's  plea. 

"  Willie  is  so  anxious  to  tell  me  something  and 
ask  me  about  it.  It  has  been  a  whole  year  since 
my  visit,  and  two  since  our  separation,  he  writes. 
I  am  so  glad  you  have  consented." 

Few  preparations  were  needed,  and  in  a  week 
Willie  and  "  Phebe "  were  once  more  sitting 
together  in  the  little  parlor,  where  as  a  diminutive 
waif  she  had  entered  more  than  twelve  years  be- 
fore, alone  and  unattended.  What  power  of 
prescience  could  have  pictured  the  changes  ?  What 
vicissitudes  and  pleasures  ;  what  a  mixing  up  of 
joys  and  sorrows,  of  snarls    and  hair-breadth    es- 


4:54  THE   MISTRESS   OF   ROSEDALE. 

capes  there  had  been  crowded  into  the  rolling 
years. 

"  I  guess  I  may  better  read  the  letter,  for  I  can 
never  tell  you  what  is  in  it,"  said  Willie,  taking 
the  well-worn  missive  from  his  pocket.  "No,  you 
may  have  that  pleasure,  while  I  will  watch  your 
face,  reading  as  well  as  you." 

"  How  you  puzzle  me,  Willie.  I  have  a  good 
mind  to  run  away  aloue  to  read  it ;  you  have  made 
me  nervous !" 

"  Not  a  step  shall  you  go."  But  her  quick  eyes 
were  following  the  page  down  at  a  rapid  rate,  and 
did  not  listen. 

'' O  Willie!"  she  exclaimed  as  she  turned  the 
paper  and  went  on.  "  Do  you  believe  it  ?  Can  it 
be  true  ?" 

"  He  says  so  !" 

"  And  he  knows.  '  I  have  written  Mr.  Palmer,' 
he  says,  '  and  am  informed  that  there  will  be  no 
difficulty  in  the  operation,  but  it  will  require  con- 
siderable practice  on  your  part  to  be  able  to  walk 
firmly  as  he  does.'  I  know  that  he  has  two  cork 
feet  or  legs,  as  one  day  while  behind  him  on 
Chestnut  street  a  friend  pointed  him  out  with  the 
expression,  '  who  would  imagine  that  his  walkers 
were  artificial  ?'  But  those  poor  little  feet !  O 
Willie,  there  is  no  joy  without  its  gloomy  side!" 

But  Willie  did  walk ;  never  without  his  cane, 
but  his  creeping  days  came  to  an  end,  and  a 
thankful  heart  blessed  God  for  its  unexpected 
bliss.  Social  life  now  has  no  horrors  for  his  sen- 
sative  nature,  and  he  mingled  freely  with  the 
refined  and  intelligent  who  frequented  the  parlors 
of  the  honored  colonel  and  his  lovely  family. 


"  GOOD    BYE."  455 

Reader,  are  you  curious  to  see  liim  ?  If  so  look 
for  him  in  one  of  the  largest  clothing  stores  in  the 
city  of  Philadelphia.  Not  as  clerk  or  seamster  as 
in  former  days,  but  as  half  owner  and  proprietor. 
Be  good,  pure  and  noble  if  you  would  succeed  in 
reaching  the  eminence  ambition  points  out  to  you. 
"Carve  out  your  niche  and  place  yourself  in  it," 
was  the  advice  of  a  true  philosopher  to  his  son, 
and  will  answer  for  the  young  of  all  ages.  Look 
up,  and  if  too  weak  to  climb,  the  hand  above  you 
will  lend  its  willing  aid. 

The  war  came  to  a  close  at  last,  and  Mr.  St. 
Clair  with  his  wife  and  daughter  returned  to  their 
southern  home.  Mrs.  Mason  received  them  joy- 
fully, but  declared  that  she  could  "  never,  never 
forgive  George  for  his  silly  freak  of  connecting 
himself  with  such  plebeianism  !  My  daughter's 
governess !  He  may  better  remain  where  such 
follies  are  tolerated !"  But  the  parents  only 
laughed,  and  the  sister  remained  silent. 

Rosedale  would  be  rebuilt,  not  in  as  magnificent, 
style  as  before,  for  its  owner's  long  stay  in  the 
north  had  taught  him  many  lessons. 

"  It  may  be  I  shall  not  care  to  occupy  it,"  the 
son  had  remarked  at  the  parting  ;  "  but  my  sweet 
sister  will  make  a  noble  mistress  for  it." 

And  so  it  proved.  George  St.  Clair  became  a 
northern  man  in  deed  as  well  as  in  feelings.  He 
proved  a  successful  tradesman  and  government 
officer  in  New  York  city  in  company  with  Klmore 
Pierson,  who  had  been  spared  to  his  mother. 

A  happy  family  gathered  in  the  home  circle, 
blessed  with  fresh  young  blossoms  of  human  life 
who  were  to  adorn  the  world  and  bring  comfort 
into  the  declining  years  of  those  whose  feet  were 


456  THE    ^IISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

going  downward.  It  is  but  a  short  journey  be- 
tween the  two  great  rival  cities,  and  the  friends 
bound  together  by  so  many  vicissitudes  kept  up  a 
pleasant  intimacy,  often  reviving  past  memories 
by  tales  of  pleasant  scenes  or  strange  coincidences 
that  would  otherwise  fade  from  sight  in  the  mov- 
ing panorama  of  human  existence. 

"  We  will  have  that  Christmas  dinner  we  were 
to  have  had  three  years  ago,''  exclaimed  Colonel 
Hamilton  a  week  before  the  world-famed  day.  "  A 
regular  house  warming!  Let  me  see!  Can  wq 
not  get  Willie's  sister  here  with  her  family,  and 
not  let  the  dear  boy  know  anything  about  it  until 
then  ?  Gaylord  and  his  wife  have  gone  back  to 
their  home,  and  I  suppose  he  would  not  come  with 
any  amount  of  coaxing  !  He  has  grown  so  sour 
and  ugly  during  the  last  six  years  that  I  pity 
that  feeble  little  wife  of  his  !  O  my  letter !  I 
have  not  even  told  3'ou  what  has  set  me  in  such  a 
commotion  !  Just  like  one  of  my  freaks  of  forget- 
fulness  !" 

"  I  was  wondering,"  laughed  Mrs.  Hamilton,  for 
he  was  skipping  around  the  room  with  the  joyous- 
ness  of  a  little  boy,  while  searching  in  his  pockets 
for  the  letter  that  was  to  make  the  revelations. 

"Where  is  the  thing?  Well  I  declare,  if  it  is 
not  down  to  the  office  on  the  desk,  as  true  as  the 
world  !    If  Willie  gets  hold  of  it !     But  no  matter." 

"  Do,  tell  me.  Pearl !  I  am  glad  you  have  doffed 
your  regimentals.  Hom'  you  would  look  in  a  Colo- 
nel's uniform  at  this  moment !  " 

"  Honor  and  glory  must  pass  away,  but  the  St. 
Clairs  will  not  pass  away ;  the}^  are  coming  and 
may  be  here  to-da}^,  Mrs.  Mason  and  all !  " 

"  And  remain  till  after  the  holidays  ?  " 


"  GOOD    BYE."  457 

"  Longer,  my  dear  !  Christmas  dinner,  however, 
is  the  main  subject  under  consideratien.  Let  me 
see  ;  Vina  is  getting  pretty  old  for  such  an  occa- 
sion, and  if  she  will  keep  little  Charlie  safe  in  the 
nursery,  it  is  about  all  we  ought  to  ask  of  her. 
Lizzie  is  good  in  her  place,  and  little  Bobb}^  is 
a  treasure  ;  but  we  must  have  another  cook.  What 
makes  you  look  so  solemn,  my  dear  wife  " 

"  O,  no— only ." 

"Well— only  what?" 

"  Is  that  Major  Belknap  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  like  him,  Lillian  ?  He  was  one 
of  the  bravest  and  noblest  officers  in  the  whole 
regiment." 

"  It  is  not  that.  But  how  can  I  ever  spare  my 
darling  child  ?  " 

"  This  will  have  to  be  done  some  day  ;  and  I 
know  of  no  one  to  whom  I  could  more  easily 
transfer  our  daughter's  happiness.  It  is  evident 
that  her  heart  is  not  wholly  her  own,  and  it 
would  not  look  well  for  you  or  me  to  interfere 
with  any  arrangement  of  this  kind,"  he  laughed. 
The  sunshine  of  the  husband's  cheerfulness  fell 
into  the  chilly  places  of  the  mother's  fears,  warm- 
ing them  into  brightness. 

The  Christmas  festivities  were  a  secured  success. 

George  St.  Clair  came  down  from  New  York, 
to  be  clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  devoted  mother ; 
and  receive  the  hearty  hug  from  the  dear  old 
father,  and  loving  embrace  from  one  sister,  and 
the  cold  salutations  of  the  second.  "If  this  does 
not  take  away  my  breath,"  he  exclaimed,  draw- 
ing his  hesitating  wife  towards  the  stately  Mrs. 
Mason,  while  disengaging  herself  from  the  de- 
monstrative greetings  of  others. 


458  THE    MISTRESS    OF    ROSEDALE. 

"  Sister,"  lie  said,  "  this  is  my  wife,  who  has 
generously  consented  to  add  an  additional  lustre 
to  the  St.  Clair  escutchion,  and,  without  doubt, 
would  as  kindly  place  3^ou  on  her  list  of  friends  !" 

iVnna  extended  her  hand,  which  Mrs.  Mason 
took  with  a  stiff  bow  of  recognition. 

This  did  not  escape  the  quick  eye  of  Colonel 
Hamilton.  "  A  trifle  freez}'  for  so  warm  a  room," 
he  whispered,  sotto  voce,  as  he  turned  to  meet 
Willie,  who  was  approaching,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  his  foster  sister. 

"  This  way,  my  boy.  A  Merr}-  Christmas," 
and  he  opened  the  door  into  the  family  sitting- 
room,  where  ]\Ir.  and  Mrs.  Hopkins,  with  their 
own  small  Willie,  were  waiting  his  coming. 

He  drew  back.  "  Am  I  dreaming !  Fanny, 
my  sister  !  "  Is  this  really  you?  "  A  tear  found 
its  way  to  the  calm  blue  eyes,  w^hose  fountain 
had  been  closed  for  man}^  a  happy  month  by  the 
blessings  that  had  been  piled  upon  it. 

"  We  are  all  here,  ni}'  brother !  You  would  not 
come  to  us,  so  we  came  to  you  !  If  mother  could 
see — and  know  !  " 

Her  voice  choked  and  she  turned  to  the  window. 

What  a  happy  circle  gathered  around  that 
bountifully-loaded  table  on  that  Christmas  day ! 
Fathers  and  mothers,  brothers  and  sisters,  friends 
and  lovers !  While  the  host  stood  with  uplifted 
hands,  asking  the  Lord  to  bless  and  draw  all  hearts 
together,  an  "  Amen  "  found  its  way  out  of  every 
answering  soul ;  and  the  the  feast  w^ent  on. 

Here  we  leave  them,  gentle  reader, — bid  them 
all  good  bye,  with  a  wish  and  a  prayer  for  their 
future  happiness  and  success. 

[finis.] 


^ 


im: 


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